Here to Help
by joyful-soul-collector
Summary: Tony Stark finds his intern Peter Parker living in the alleyway by Stark Tower and takes him in. Cue adorable Iron Dad and Spider-Son moments. (Takes place after Spider-Man Homecoming) MOVED TO AO3: This website is just too unbelievably difficult to work on. I actually have more than 6 chapters of this story written and posted on AO3/Wattpad because they're far easier to use
1. I'm sorry I didn't notice

I slammed my fist against the table in frustration as the program failed again. I'd been trying to code DUM-E to fix one of my suits for the past few hours, but none of the codes I put it seemed to be doing what I wanted them to.

"Friday can you run a scan on this?"

"Sir, I've scanned this three times already."

"Yeah yeah, I know, I just can't figure out what's up with it. I've had DUM-E fix my suits before, but it just doesn't want to work today. Just try scanning it again."

"Alright. Scanning now," Friday said. I walked to the window while Friday did another scan, and stared down at the city below. I wasn't too far from the ground, my lab on the higher floor was being renovated, so I had to move down. It wasn't bad down here, I can see things better from this height. Cars didn't look like little lego pieces, they looked more like Hot Wheels.

I also liked watching the people, I hadn't realized how mesmerizing it was to just watch people walking and going about their day. I watched someone with a blue jacket walking down the sidewalk, and suddenly realized it was my intern, Peter Parker. I smiled, remembering how good he was with tech. _Maybe he can figure out what's up with DUM-E_, I thought.

But Peter didn't go into Stark Tower like I expected him to. He went down an alleyway on the side of Stark Tower, one that I knew for a fact lead to a dead end. _What the hell is he doing?_

I watched him until he was out of sight. Something wasn't right. That alleyway doesn't go anywhere. And he can't be changing into his suit for patrol, he had an internship meeting with me in about five minutes, I was going to help him update his suit. So what the hell was he walking into a dead-end alleyway for?

But now that I thought about it, I hadn't heard from Pete in about a week. He usually left me messages and called me all the time, updating me on everything from patrol to how pretty he thought MJ was. But he hadn't spoken with me once this week. I was so busy with meetings that I didn't notice.

A sick feeling formed in my stomach, guilt creeping into my chest. Clearly something was wrong. I had to find out what it was.

It didn't take me long to get down to the ground floor, and I rushed out the doors of the tower, becoming more and more worried with every second. I practically sprinted through the alleyway.

"No, no no no! They're gone! Oh god they're all gone, fuck, no, no no no…"

I froze, hearing Peter start to sob. My heart clenched at the sound of his voice cracking with misery. I rounded the corner.

There was Peter, hands running through his hair as tears fell down his face. He was staring at a shopping cart, which was empty except for a half-full water bottle and an open trash bag. Peter looked thin and tired, and he had small patches of dirt all over his face and clothes. His tears actually made visible tracks through the grime on his face.

"Peter?" I said.

Peter snapped up, his eyes wide with fear. I wasn't used to people being afraid when they saw me, most of the time they looked happy to see someone coming along to help them.

"Peter, what's wrong? What're you doing here, why-" and then I saw the tent set up in the corner.

Peter looked like he was going to run for a moment, but as he realized I'd already figured it out, he started to cry even harder. He put his hands over his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut and looking very much as though he'd rather disappear.

"Oh my god, Pete, hey, shhh, it's okay," I said, rushing to him and pushing his curls out of his face, trying to see his eyes. "Hey, hey it's okay, kid. Can you tell me what's wrong? I'm here to help kid, just tell me whats' wrong, I can fix it."

"Aunt-Aunt May-" Peter said through broken sobs, "She, she kicked me out. She kicked me out last week. I couldn't- I didn't know where else to go!"

"It's okay, it's okay," I said, pulling his hands away from his mouth so I could see his face.

"S-so I came here, and I thought I'd stay here in case you needed me for a mission, but-but I had to get a job and-and now all my clothes got stolen-" Peter broke off with a sob.

So that's what he meant by "they're all gone". Someone had taken all his clothes. _His clothes were some of his only possessions_, I realized, looking around the alleyway. And someone just took some of the last things Peter owned.

"Do you want a hug kid?" I asked.

"We're there?" he said, looking hopeful for the first time.

"Jesus, of course we're there kid, come here," I gathered him in my arms, holding him tightly to my chest.

I had far too many questions. Why did his Aunt kick him out? How did I miss this? He had to get a job? Why didn't he tell someone? Why didn't he tell _me?_

He's so thin. I swear I've seen him in this sweater before, and it didn't hang off his body like it does now. I'm not used to feeling the knobs of his spine, and his shoulders are bony and poke painfully into my skin.

"You're way too thin kid, have you been eating?"

"Not-Not really," he answered quietly. "I think the last time was a day or so ago."

"Shit kid. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry I didn't notice."

"It's okay, it's okay Mr. Stark, it's not like I made it very obvious in the first place. I didn't _want_ anyone to notice."

I pulled away from him, holding his shoulders and leaning down to look in his eyes.

"Don't tell me it's okay. Don't ever think it's okay to go unnoticed. Don't ever think it's okay to stay quiet and suffer in silence. You need help, you get it, okay? You need help, you make sure people know and you make sure that you get the help you deserve, okay?"

Peter looked at me with mixed confusion and relief.

"No one has ever told me that before," he said. "I-I thought I wasn't supposed to have help, I thought I was supposed to do everything by myself. I thought…"

Peter heaved a shaky sigh, and I realized just how heavily he was leaning on my hands. I held him steady while he finished his sentence.

"Well I'm the hero right? I'm the one who's supposed to help people, I shouldn't need help, I'm supposed to be okay. Right? I shouldn't have help, I'm not the person who needs-"

"Pete you help people every day, and you didn't think once that you deserved the same kind of help you give to others?" I interrupted. I pushed his curls out of his face again, gazing into his dark, red-rimmed eyes. "You are important. You can't help others if you yourself are hurting."

"Yeah, I definitely feel that, I haven't been able to go on patrol since I started my job at the Daily Bugle."

"You work at _that_ place?" I said. "But they hate Spider-Man!"

"It was the only place that was hiring and paid well enough for me to maybe get my own place someday. They like my pictures."

"Is that why you didn't call me? Because you didn't go on patrol?"

"Well yeah, I mean what was there to report?"

"Oh I dunno, maybe that your Aunt fucking kicked you out and you're living in an alleyway? Maybe that you don't have a place to go and you're starving? Maybe that you needed some help?"

"Oh. Heh, I guess I thought about it, but I didn't want to bother you, you've got all this stuff going on with running your own company and everything with the Avengers breaking up, and I didn't want to give you another thing to stress about."

He was worried about _me_. He didn't want _me_ to stress, so he tried to shoulder all this by himself.

"Pete, you are far more important than the freaking company. You are worth the stress, you are worth the worry, and I would do anything to see you happy and healthy. But, obviously, you are neither of those things right now," I said.

Peter gave a weak laugh, wiping the tears from his cheeks and consequently smearing the dirt more.

"No, heh, not really. Feel kinda shit to be honest."

"So, would you like some help?" I asked. Peter paused for a moment, looking at the ground, then met my eyes and nodded.

"Yeah, yeah I think… I need some help," Peter said.

Peter suddenly never looked more powerless. He'd been trying to hold some sort of courage, any scrap of strength he could find in himself this whole time, and it seems that he'd finally admitted defeat. He somehow looked smaller, more neglected and scared than when I had first found him back here.

"Alright then. Let's go up to my space. We'll get you cleaned up, I'll make you something to eat, make you feel better. You look like you need some good food and rest. Do you need anything from your tent? They didn't take your suit too did they?"

"No, I kept that in my backpack," he said, gesturing to his backpack lying in the corner of the alley. "I didn't want to leave it here even though I knew I couldn't use it because of my job. I can't imagine leaving home without my suit. There's not much in my tent, just a sleeping bag and some school books I need for next year. Anything that's really of value, besides my clothes, I keep in my backpack. So my camera, my computer, my suit, all of that stays with me all the time."

"Alright, well I'll get your school books and backpack, just wait here a moment." I let go of his arms. I had barely walked a step before I heard Peter whimper.

"Mr. Stark?" I whipped around to see Peter swaying dangerously. "I think I'm gonna fall?"

"Shit." I caught him just as he started to keel over, and Peter struggled to stand upright again. "Nope, no, stay down kid, just sit down, lean on that wall, there you go, just rest there for a moment."

"I'm sorry, I just-I can't-"

"It's okay, you're fine kid. You're not in trouble, nothing to apologize for." I looked down and spoke to Friday. "Hey Fri you know those special protein bars Bruce made for after he Hulks out? Could you send a suit down here with one of those?"

I heard Peter's stomach rumble at the mention of protein bars, but oddly enough Peter didn't look very excited.

"Doesn't Dr. Banner need those?"

"Kid, we don't even know where Bruce _is_ right now. He won't miss them. Unfortunately you probably can't eat more than one, they have this special sedative in it that makes sure Bruce _stays_ Bruce after his transformation. There have been a few times where he'll have a relapse of the Hulk after a battle from a panic attack, so we put basically a very powerful anti-anxiety pill in the bar. But your enhanced metabolism won't burn through it as quickly as with other foods, so eating more than one of that serum could cause you to fall asleep, which would be bad because then we wouldn't be able to get you cleaned up or give you any real food."

"That makes sense," Peter said a little dazedly. I'm not sure he'd really been listening .

I opened the flap in Peter's tent, and I had to bite back a gasp at what I saw.

Peter had been sleeping in a ripped, old sleeping bag on the gravely alleyway floor, and upon seeing the inside I realized how little room there was in here. Peter's books were stacked on the side, and there was an empty plastic water bottle by where his head would lay. I realized that Peter must have been filling up on water when he couldn't afford to eat.

I found myself trying to think of all the places Peter could get basic needs, trying to figure out what Peter had to do to get by this week. Where was the cheapest place to buy food? Were there water fountains nearby? Where could he shower and clean himself? How did he get to and from work?

I left the tent with Peter's books in hand, and found him and my suit waiting for me. My suit was kneeling down and holding the protein bar wrapper, while Peter ravenously dug into the bar.

I wished I could get this kid some food sooner, but I can't just feed him fast food, he needs real, good food that will give him nutrients and energy. Maybe some pasta, with vegetables? _Roasted broccoli doesn't take too long to make, and I know Peter likes Fettuccine Alfredo. I'll make that for him then_, I thought.

Peter finished the bar, and got up a little shakily. But he wasn't falling over, so that was good.

I stepped into the suit and flew up to my lab with Peter clutched in my arms bridal style. He clung tightly around my neck, though the only thing I noticed was how light he was.

When we made it up there I let his legs drop and steadied him before stepping out of the suit.

"Alright kiddo, why don't we get you in the shower, I'll make you something to eat while you're in there okay?" I said, as my suit flew out the open window again and I set his things on the kitchen counter.

Peter only nodded, looking a little relieved at the thought of getting clean. I led him to the shower and showed him how to turn it on and off and control the temperature.

"You good to shower? I wouldn't want you to fall in here," I said. Peter nodded again.

"The bar made me feel a little better, I don't think I'll fall."

"Alright then, I'll leave you to it," I said, setting some spare clothes on the counter as Peter started to take off his sweater and lift his shirt. But I wasn't more than five steps away from him when I heard a strangled gasp.

I turned around to see Peter standing shirtless in front of the mirror, a hand clasped over his mouth and tears spilling from his eyes. Peter's bones were jutting sharply out of his skin, his stomach sunken and hollow, concave between his hip bones and rib cage. Peter stared in horror at himself, looking as though he didn't recognize the person there. His thin shoulders shook as sobs wracked through him, and he squeezed his eyes shut, looking rather frozen in place.

I slowly walked towards him again, and leaned against the doorway. He opened his eyes, and seemed to calm down a little at the sight of me.

"Does it scare you?" I asked softly. He looked from me to himself in the mirror, then down at the tiled floor.

He nodded.

"You know-" I said gently, "-you can wait. We can wait till later to get you cleaned up. You don't have to do it now. Do you want to wait until after dinner to shower?"

He blinked and thought for a moment, dropping his hand. "I… I want to get cleaned up, it's just…" He trailed off and made a vague gesture at his reflection in the mirror.

"You could just wash off your face. Washing your face will help. That's often what I do when I don't have enough energy to shower after a fight. Feels better than doing nothing."

Peter gave a little sigh, looking relieved at the compromise. He nodded and put his shirt back on.

"Meet me back out there when you've finished," I said patting his shoulder as he splashed water onto his face.

I went to the kitchen and began cooking, boiling the water, putting the broccoli in the oven to roast, and melting butter in a saucepan. I started cutting the garlic as Peter came around the corner.

"Hey! You feel better now that you got all the grime off your face?"

"A bit," he replied, walking over to the sink and filling up a large glass of water. I noticed how he had to hold the cup with both hands, trying to keep it steady as he sat down behind the counter.

"Well you look a lot better," I said, pouring the chopped garlic into the pot of simmering butter. The delicious smell of buttery garlic filled the room and Peter sniffed the air.

He swallowed thickly as his stomach gave a hollow rumble, advertising loudly how hungry he was.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. Peter picked up his glass of water and started taking large gulps, trying to silence his stomach by filling it with liquid.

The timer for the broccoli went off and I set the pan in front of him, gesturing for him to take some.

"You don't have to fill up on water anymore. Eat," I said. Peter reached out for the broccoli a little hesitantly, but popped a floret in his mouth with a moan all the same.

"Broccoli never tasted so good," he said with his mouth full.

"Makes sense, you haven't eaten in a while, and it's even worse with your enhanced metabolism. What _did_ you eat this week?"

"Well I had a sandwich from Mr. Delmar's on Monday when I was kicked out, and then I had another one on Wednesday. I think he knew something was wrong 'cuz he put extra stuff on it. That was nice."

"That _was_ nice," I agreed. I made a mental note to do something for Mr. Delmar as a thank you for taking care of Peter. "So all you've had this week is a couple sandwiches?"

"Well, I had coffee every day at the Daily Bugle, and someone left a cereal bar on the breakroom table after work on Tuesday so I ate that," he said, putting another piece of broccoli in his mouth. I could tell he wanted to be eating much faster, but the food was too hot.

"So not really food huh?" I said, stirring the pasta as it boiled. Peter sighed and shook his head.

"No, not really food no. I was so hungry I wanted to cry last night."

Something inside me snapped at that moment, and I slammed the spoon on the stove with a rather loud bang.

"I'm sorry!" Peter shrieked, suddenly getting up from the chair and backing away. It took me a moment to realize what he was reacting to. "I'm sorry Mr. Stark, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, I'm so sorry-"

"Sorry? Pete what're you- Oh no, it's okay! I'm not angry at you, it's okay," I said. _What on earth did this kid's Aunt do to him?_

Peter put down his arms but he was still breathing like he'd run a mile, and his hands shook so hard it looked like they were vibrating.

"Woah, woah hey kid? Kid look at me, deep breaths okay? Can you hear me?"

Peter nodded, but his breathing wasn't getting better.

"Peter, I need you to try and breathe deep, okay? Breathe all the way down to your belly, okay? Can I touch your arms?"

Peter nodded again, and his breathing slowed a bit as I rubbed his arms and shoulders. I'm not sure why I was doing it, I just knew it was nice when Pep did it when I was having a panic attack. Suddenly Peter was leaning forward and hugging me around the middle, speaking into my shirt.

"I-I thought you were gonna-Gonna hurt me, I don't-I don't know why I thought that-I know you wouldn't do that, I just got scared-"

"It's okay, it's okay, it's not your fault. We can work on that okay? It'll get better, I promise kid. I'm sorry I scared you, I wasn't angry at you, I was angry at myself. I can't believe I didn't notice."

"It's okay Mr. Stark. Like I said, I didn't want anyone to notice. I was fine being alone."

"You don't have to be alone. I'm here for you. I'm here to help."

"Yeah. I know that now."

I held him tightly for a few moments before Peter's stomach grumbled, reminding me of the pasta.

"Heh, your stomach's rumbling. I think it knows the pasta is almost ready," I said, gently pulling away to drain the pasta. Peter went silent for a few moments.

"Aunt May always told me to quit eating so much," he said quietly.

I paused, realizing Peter was actually opening up to me now. I didn't want to bring it up, but I'd been wanting to know why she kicked him out. What had she done to him?

"She did?" I said. Peter nodded.

"'Quit being so needy,' she would say. She said she'd kick me out if I kept making her spend money on me like this."

I froze.

"She… said that to you?"

Peter nodded, looking down at the counter.

"Told me I wasn't hungry unless she said I was. I wasn't tired unless she said I was. I wasn't sad or happy or angry or scared unless she said I was. I wasn't allowed to sleep until she said I could, if she was in a bad mood, I had to stay quiet, if she was in a good mood I had to be in a good mood too. I wasn't allowed to ask for anything, or take anything, I was only allowed what was specifically _given_ to me. I was only supposed to eat what _she_ gave me, and not to take anything else from the house. I tried to follow the rules, I really _really_ tried but some days I was just I couldn't do it. I'd cry or I'd ask to go to bed, or I'd get home from patrol and my sandwich from Mr. Delmar's wouldn't be enough and I would try and find something to eat that she wouldn't miss, something she wouldn't notice was gone. And it worked most of the time, but I guess she caught me breaking the rules one too many times on Monday, because she told me to pack up my stuff and get out. If I wasn't gone by the time she came home from work then she said she was gonna get me transferred out of school so I couldn't see Ned or MJ again."

"What were you doing?" I asked.

"I was eating a bowl of cereal in my room. She came home and I didn't hear her come in because I was stupid and had my headphones on. She came into my room, took it, threw it out the window, bowl and everything, then told me to get out."

I set a plate piled high with pasta in front of him, and his eyes went so wide I thought they might just pop out of his skull. Peter practically fell on the food, wolfing it down desperately, as though the protein bar and the broccoli had never even happened.

_His Aunt starved him_, I thought. _And kicked him out when she found him eating. He was just eating, he was just trying to get by, and she wouldn't let him. What kind of person does that to a kid? A child?_

Peter was still eating rapidly, and I realized he should probably slow down. If he eats too much at once he would throw up, and he needs to keep his food, he needs the nutrition. I reach up and touched his shoulder.

"Hey, Pete-"

Peter flinched violently at my touch, and the fork he was holding bent in half beneath his fist. He calmed down not a second later as though coming out of a trance, but stared at the fork in his hands.

He didn't seem to understand what happened for a moment. He swallowed the bite of pasta that was in his mouth, and then set the fork down with agonizing care, as though he were holding something extremely delicate. And after that, he did nothing. Just sat there, staring at the ruined fork.

"I can get you a new fork," I said. "I just needed you to eat a little slower, I'm sorry I scared you."

"It's okay, I was just startled, I spaced out," he said flatly, still staring at the fork.

"I don't know how this is going to get better Mr. Stark," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know I'm safe here, I know you would never hurt me like Aunt May did. But I'm still scared. I don't know why, but I'm so, _so scared_, and it feels like I'll never feel okay again.

"And part of me… Part of me worries that maybe I deserved it. Maybe I'm broken and Aunt May was giving me exactly what I deserved, and she wasn't in the wrong at all to kick me out. I broke the rules, so of course I got punished for it."

I gave a deep sigh as he finished. I reached up slowly, picking up the ruined fork and turning it over in my hand.

I handed it to him, and he looked at me like I was crazy.

"What… What do you want me to do?"

"Bend it back. As best you can."

Peter stared at me for a moment, then looked down and started bending the fork back into shape. It took a few tries for him to get it right, at some points he bent it wrong in another place, or the tongs of the fork got mashed together, and he had to separate them again. But eventually the fork looked like a fork, though definitely not the same as before it was bent.

"You're gonna be alright Pete," I said, looking at the fork as well. "There are going to be some setbacks of course, recovery isn't linear. And you'll still have the memories of what she's done to you. But you'll be okay. You'll be happy, and safe, and you are loved so much. Look at me," I said. Peter looked up, rubbing at a slight divot in the fork's handle.

"You are not worthy of the abuse your Aunt gave you. You are not worthy of any of the horrid things she's done to you. None of this is your fault. You are not broken." I got up and walked to the silverware drawer. "And know that when you're ready to start working on yourself-" I plucked his fork out of his hand. "-Me, Pepper, your friends, and all the people who love you will be here to help you become everything you could ever want to be." I put a new, untarnished fork in his hand.

Peter stared at the new fork, and gave a small smile. He stood up and hugged me tightly.

Peter finished his plate, then went to the bathroom to shower. When he came back out again, he stared at the pasta for a few minutes before remembering he was allowed to eat if he was hungry now. We watched tv (mainly cartoons, the nerd) while he ate the rest of the pasta and broccoli. When his head started to droop, I lead him to a spare bedroom next to Pepper and I's. He pressed a hand to one of the pillows, muttering something about how fluffy they were, before flopping down and snuggling himself under the thick blankets.

I walked back into the dining room and picked up Peter's still slightly mangled fork, then went back to his room to find him snoring softly, his face half-buried in the pillows.

I left the fork on his bedside table.


	2. We'll work on that

I paced around the kitchen, thinking about yesterday, as I had been all night. I tried going to sleep but every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was Peter crying and asking his aunt if he was allowed to sleep. Needless to say, the notion drove any exhaustion I might've felt far from my mind. This woman-this _monster_ neglected and abused him, and all the while he had school and Spider-Man to worry about. This kid has so much weight on his shoulders, and he doesn't even realize it.

"Sir," Friday said suddenly, making me almost drop my coffee.

"Jesus- Yeah Fri?"

"Peter's heart rate is rising at an unusual pace, I believe he is having a nightmare," she said.

"Oh _shit_, okay, thanks Fri," I said, setting down my coffee and rushing to Peter's room. I knocked on his door and called, "Pete? You alright? Friday's a bit worried."

For a second I thought there was no answer. But then I heard muffled moans and crying coming from behind the door, though I couldn't tell what he was saying, or even if he was _saying_ anything at all.

"I'm coming in kid," I said, feeling a bit of panic rising in my throat.

Peter was twisting and shaking, his covers kicked off him and his hair stuck to the sweat on his forehead. He writhed on the bed, moaning and crying as though he were in pain.

"Peter!? Hey, Peter wake up, wake up kid," I said, running over and trying to shake him awake. All he did was whimper and turn over.

"No… stop… please…"

"Pete? C'mon kid, you gotta wake up, it's not real-"

"I didn't mean it, it was an accident, I'm sorry-Help me, help me Dad, help me it _hurts!_"

"Peter!"

"Dad help! HELP DAD _HELP ME-_"

He snapped awake with a strangled gasp, clutching and scrabbling at his chest, wheezing as tears poured down his face and mingled with the sweat already there.

"Hey, hey you're alright, you're okay-"

"_I can't breathe, I can't breathe_-"

"Yes you can, you _can_, look-" I took his hand and pressed it firmly to his frantically rising and falling chest. "That's you, you're breathing, that's you, do you feel it?"

He went silent for a second before nodding, though his breaths still sounded strained and painful.

"Okay, you gotta calm down kiddo, we're gonna do the same thing we did yesterday okay? Breathe deep, all the way down okay?"

He nodded.

"Focus on your breath," I continued. "Feel the air going past your nose and mouth, down your throat, filling your gut. And then feel it going out, feel your stomach sinking, the air going past your nose and mouth. Just focus on the feeling of breathing."

He never stopped looking at me as he did his best to calm down. He stared at me and clutched my hand like I was the only thing that kept him anchored to earth, while his other hand pressed flat against his chest, reminding himself he was still breathing. It was about ten minutes before his grip on me loosened.

Though he was no longer having a panic attack, he still looked small and helpless, like when I found him in the alleyway. He had himself propped up weakly against the headboard, looking like he would blow away if I breathed too hard. But then I remembered what seemed to cheer him up back when I found him alone and scared.

"Do you want a hug?"

His face lit up again just like it did then, with that sappy, almost pitiful hope, and he nodded fervently, as though worried I would change my mind at the last second.

I swung my legs onto the bed and shifted back so I was sitting next to him. Then I opened my arms and Peter buried himself into my side, his head resting on my chest and his thin arms curled tight around my torso.

"You sure like hugs," I said. Peter nodded.

"Safe," was all that he said.

I rubbed his back with my right hand, feeling dismayed that his spine and ribs still jutted out of his skin. He's gotta be starving, he slept for a whole twelve hours, and with his metabolism? I imagine his stomach must be absolutely _cramping_ with hunger.

But knowing him, I'm sure he would sooner pass out from low blood sugar than tell me he's in the mood for a snack.

"Nightmares suck," Peter said, pulling me out of my thoughts.

"Yeah. Yeah, they really do," I said. "You wanna tell me about it?"

"Um, well it was when the Vulture dropped that building on me, but it was Aunt May who was doing it. She kept saying that I broke the rules so she had to punish me."

"Man, that sucks. I'm sorry kid." I almost asked about this "Dad" he was talking about, but decided against it. If he didn't mention it, maybe that was something he'd rather keep to himself.

"Not your fault," he answered.

I know. I know it's not my fault. I know I wasn't the one who hurt him. But then why do I feel so damn guilty?

It's because I didn't notice. Not only did I neglect to realize my intern was fucking _homeless_, but I never even thought about what his home-life might be like. Never thought to check if he was okay.

Though as I glanced at the fork still sitting on his bedside table, a small part of my brain told me that I was being ridiculous, and not to blame myself for the pain Peter went through. But I wasn't interested in listening to that voice at the moment.

"I should probably get dressed," Peter said, looking down at his pajama-clad legs.

"Oh. I guess if you want to then. I think I'll stay in my pj's," I said with a laugh. I got out of his bed and shut the door behind me.

I spent the next ten minutes or so making breakfast, being sure to give Peter twice as much food as me. I put a Hulk bar on his plate too, in case the giant heap of scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, and milk wasn't enough. To be completely honest, I wasn't sure how much he really needed, but he did eat an entire box of pasta by himself yesterday so I thought it'd be best not to skimp on anything.

When everything was set, I looked towards the hallway. There was still no sign of Peter. Then I heard the elevator door ding and slide open, and looked to see Peter taking a step into the elevator, wearing his old (but now clean) clothes from yesterday, backpack on his shoulders and camera slung around his neck.

"Peter?"

Peter jumped, and the elevator door bonked his shoulder knocking him off-balance.

"Ow. Oh uh, heyyy Mr. Stark," Peter said, backing out of the elevator and rubbing his shoulder.

"What're you doing?"

"Goin' to work," he said simply.

"To work? Why?"

"Pictures won't take themselves, Mr. Stark."

Smartass even when hungry and sleep-deprived. The only way he could be more like me is if he put on sunglasses and grew a goatee.

"No, seriously kid, why are you going to work? You don't have to work at the Daily Bugle anymore," I said, walking over to him.

Peter gave me a funny look, then rolled his eyes.

"_Ha ha_, hilarious Mr. Stark." Peter pressed the down button again, waiting for the elevator to open up and avoiding my eyes.

"Peter what-? You need to _stay here_, you haven't recovered from-

"Work isn't going to wait around for me to rest up-"

"But there's no reason for you to work anymore!"

"How do you expect me to get my own place if I'm not making money?"

"_Expect_ you? But you're living _here_, with me! So I can take care of you! You don't need to make money anymore if you already have a home!"

Peter froze and looked at me. He didn't even move when the elevator door opened again.

Suddenly a cold weight dropped into my chest.

"Unless, you _don't_ want to live here," I said, looking down and feeling embarrassed. "Which is-Which is fine! But, but you shouldn't go work at the paper, I'll get a place lined up for you and-and I'll pay you for being Spider-Man, I mean I was going to do that anyway, but don't go and work there, please just stay here for a week or so and-"

"I wanna stay!" Peter said suddenly. I looked up to see him shaking, tears trickling down his face. "I want to stay! I wanna stay with you! I thought I couldn't- I thought this was _temporary_, I thought I was going to have to leave and I didn't want to be a bother-"

"Oh kid, you're never a bother, c'mere," I said, and I pulled him safely into my arms, being sure to push his camera out of the way. "You're _never_ a bother, you have always been welcome here. I'm sorry I didn't make that clear before you spent a week in the streets. I'm sorry I didn't think to check on you sooner. I'm so sorry."

"It's okay Mr. Stark. It's not your fault. It's a lot of me too, I should've asked for help earlier," Peter said.

"No, no that's not your fault either. You were taught that you didn't deserve help, so obviously you didn't ask. I was taught that too, it took a long time for Pepper and Rhodey to reverse that, heh. So we'll work on that. How does that sound?"

Peter nodded against my shirt and hugged me closer. I hugged him so tight he actually winced.

"Oh shit sorry, too tight?"

"Uh, no, actually it's my-"

Peter's stomach gave a piteously empty sounding rumble. He actually moved a hand away so that he could hold his belly, and I heard him give a slight hiss of pain.

"…stomach," he finished. "Sorry."

"Quit saying you're sorry for being hungry. It's okay to be hungry, you're not committing some awful crime."

"I'm not?"

"No, you're not," I let him go and leaned down so I could look him in the eye. "You're just being a person. Just let me know when you're hungry okay? Let me know when you need something, don't wait until your stomach is ready to implode."

"You… actually want me to tell you when I'm hungry?"

"_Yes_. Tell me anything and everything kid, just tell me. Don't wait until you're hurting. All that stuff that your aunt said is wrong. You can tell me you're tired, you can be mad and sad and happy _whenever_ you have to be, you can get something to eat or go to sleep without _anyone's_ permission, you can cry if you need to. You don't have to wait for me to say it's okay to be whatever you need to be."

"But, I don't know how to do that."

"We can work on that."

"We have a lot of stuff to work on," he said miserably.

"We have a lot of time," I said. I stood up straight and put my arm around his shoulders.

"Now, how about we get some food in that belly of yours? What the _hell_ were you thinking trying to leave without breakfast? Or even a packed lunch for that matter?"

"I didn't want to be annoying. And it's not like I've never gone without breakfast before… Or lunch," he said, fidgeting with his sleeves.

"Well from now on, you're having at least three square meals every single day, no exceptions."

"_Three whole meals,_" Peter whispered to himself. I decided not to comment; I don't think he actually wanted me to hear that.

"I made you breakfast," I said. Peter looked up at me, eyes wide and mouth parted.

"You did?" he said, his voice going up an octave.

"You bet. How do you feel about eggs, toast, and bacon?" I said.

Peter swallowed and chewed his lip hungrily, his pupils dilated so wide his eyes looked more black than brown. His belly grumbled lowly again, and he clutched it, as though trying to drive the pain and noises away with his fist. Though of course, only food would be able to accomplish that.

"Y-yes please," he said in a high, trembling whisper. He sounded like he was about to cry again, so I ruffled his curls and lead him to the dining room. When he saw his plate a sob-like whine escaped his throat, and he hurried to the table, shoveling hot scrambled eggs into his mouth.

I sat across from him and began eating too. I watched Peter carefully as he inhaled the pile of scrambled eggs, taking a few bites of toast and bacon, and a swig of milk every once in a while. He breathed heavily, with little whines of either relief or desperation between bites.

It broke my heart.

It was only after a couple minutes that Peter slowed down enough for me to talk to him.

"Hey Pete, you didn't happen to get hungry in the middle of the night, did you?" I asked.

Peter froze, looked at me, then looked away nervously.

"How did you know?"

I gave him a sympathetic smile.

"Lucky guess. Your stomach wouldn't stop growling, you sounded like you were going to cry when I said I made you breakfast, and you're eating at a hundred miles per hour now."

Peter turned red, and put down the strip of bacon he was eating, as though he were going to stop.

"Oh no, I didn't mean for you to stop, I wasn't trying to _shame_ you," I said quickly. "Please, keep eating if you're hungry. I just meant that you must be starving because of your metabolism."

Peter picked up the bacon again, looking a little relieved, and then he nodded.

"Yeah, I got hungry last night, at like two am or something… My stomach woke me up cuz it hurt," he mumbled.

I almost swore out loud but hid it behind a rather aggressive sounding cough. If Steve were here he'd be proud I managed not to cuss in front of a kid for once.

"And I imagine you didn't get up to get something to eat, did you?" I continued. Peter shook his head.

"I… I didn't want to wake you up. I mean, Aunt May could almost _always_ hear me if I tried to get something in the middle of the night cuz the fridge made this loud squeaking noise, though sometimes I could flip up onto the ceiling before she caught me. And…" Peter trailed off, turning red again.

"What is it?" I said.

"Well I couldn't steal from _you_, could I? Tony _freaking_ Stark gives you a place to stay and you go raid his fridge like you own the place? I couldn't do that!" Peter distracted himself by biting into another slice of toast.

I sighed. It was exactly as I suspected. He'd just gone back to sleep with his belly rumbling and cramping without a second thought.

"Well, I, Anthony Edward Stark-"

"Your middle name is _Edward_ like the _vampire-_"

"-Give you full permission, to- How did you put it? 'Raid my fridge like you own the place,'" I said, taking a bite of my own eggs. "Any time. Day or night. Make all the noise you want. Hell, you can come into my room, or the lab, or even in the middle of a business meeting and start chucking food at me if you'd like, I don't care."

Peter laughed, and it made my metal heart swell to hear the sound. A genuine, happy laugh.

Up until now, it seems he'd been too hungry or tired to be happy, but now that he'd been fed and rested, he was returning to the cheerful boy I knew.

Well, the cheerful boy I _thought_ I knew. I _thought_ he lived in a good home, I _thought_ his Aunt was a perfectly fine woman, I _thought_ he had enough. Enough food, enough sleep, enough love, enough to be truly happy.

But, as yesterday's events showed, he's never had enough. And, I've realized, he still doesn't quite have enough now. Specifically, enough to wear. All his clothes got stolen, meaning the clothes he's wearing now are the only ones that he has.

"Pete, do you want to see if we can get your clothes back? I could check the security cameras and see exactly who took them-"

"No," Peter interrupted.

"Really?" I said. "Why?"

"I um… It's really hard out there," he said through a bite of eggs. "I was only homeless for a week and I still had some of my own stuff. There's a ton of people out there who don't have _anything_. For now, I'm assuming someone stole my clothes because they _needed_ them. They didn't even touch my tent, they could've stolen that too, but they didn't.

"And I mean, most of those didn't fit anyway. The only thing I would've been sad to lose is this shirt," he said, plucking at the shirt on his chest, which read "If you believe in telekinesis, raise my right hand". I privately thought Wanda would find it funny. "Ned and MJ got it for me for my birthday. It's my favorite, I'm lucky I was wearing it yesterday."

I was a bit surprised at his answer but didn't argue. Even though he's been hurt so much, he still cares more about the _people_ than he does himself.

"Well then, looks like we'll have to go shopping soon," I said, smiling at him over my glass of milk. "Get you some nice new clothes, ones that actually fit too."

Peter suddenly looked a bit panicked again.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"…I'm not used to people buying me things. Makes me feel weird."

"But what about your shirt? You were just saying-"

"That was different, it was my birthday, they would've felt bad if they _didn't_ get me something, so it was okay. But now you're just buying me stuff all willy-nilly-"

"It's not 'willy-nilly', you _need_ clothes. You're not being spoiled, you're just being given the things you need," I said. I reached across the table and put my hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay to let yourself be taken care of. Let me take care of you, that's what I'm here for. I'm here to help you, not to _tolerate_ you."

Peter still didn't look convinced, but didn't argue.

He finished the last of his food, except the Hulk bar, though when I came back from clearing my plate, the bar was nowhere in sight.

Peter was actually curled in on himself, his knees pulled up to his chest, his arms crossed behind his legs and hugging his belly. If he weren't smiling so widely, I would've thought he was in pain.

"Uh, Pete? Whatcha doin' over there?"

"My stomach doesn't hurt!" he chirped. "It's warm. Feels nice." He hugged himself closer, closing his eyes as though he were snuggling into a blanket.

I laughed.

"You're like a kitten or something. Curling around itself," I said.

"I'm alright with being a kitten," Peter said, opening his eyes. "Kittens are awesome, not the worst thing you could be." Then after a moment, "Arguably, it's the _best_ thing you could be. New goal in life: become a kitten."

"Not a bad goal kid. Not a bad goal," I said.

Peter snorted before glancing at the plates on the table. He suddenly uncurled himself, picking up all the dishes and walking to the sink. He snatched up a sponge and started rinsing off all the dishes and scrubbing them.

"Kid, you know I have machines to do that for me right?"

"Oh yeah, but it's the least I could do for you! You're letting me live here, I gotta repay you somehow. I was thinking I would clean the living room later, then sweep and mop the lab, and then maybe-"

"Kid…" I turned off the sink and he looked at me curiously. "You don't have to feel guilty for anything."

"What? I don't feel guilty! I'm all good!" he said a little too cheerfully.

"You do. You don't have to try and repay me, all I'm doing is giving you what you deserve."

"No, you're doing a lot more than that!" Peter said, looking at me as though I wasn't giving myself enough credit.

"Kid, all I've done so far is give you shelter, rest, food, and the promise of new clothes."

"Yeah!" he said, like I was proving his point.

"Kid, those are just basic needs. You think that I'm spoiling you or that you're getting more than you deserve, but you're _not_."

Peter frowned, and looked back at the dishes. I slowly put my hand on his wrist, and pulled him away from the sink. Peter dried off his hands and then started fiddling with his sleeves as I told Friday to have a suit do the dishes.

"Hey, it's alright," I said, turning back to Peter who was still frowning and fidgeting with his sleeves.

"Yeah, I guess. I just… I suppose I do feel guilty. I don't feel like I deserve any of this."

"Well you do. You deserve all the good things. You might not know that right now, but we can work on that."

"Okay. We can work on that," he said. He leaned forward and held up his arms, and I wrapped my own around him, holding him tightly to my chest.

Safe.

"Hey, I don't feel like working in the lab today. Do you want to go watch something? Anything you want," I said.

"Anything I want?" Peter repeated, looking up, his eyes alight with excitement.

"That's what I said."

"…Even _Batman_?"

"Haha! Even Batman. You go get it set up, I'll be there in a sec," I said. Peter let me go and flipped onto the couch, the remote bouncing conveniently into his lap.

I walked into the kitchen and grabbed a Hulk bar (Maybe I should call them Spidey Bars since Bruce is nowhere to be found), and put it in my pocket in case he needed it for later-_oh my god I'm a __**mom**_-and then tossed a packet of popcorn in the microwave. A few seconds in the first kernel popped and I heard Peter gasp.

"ARE YOU MAKING POPCORN!?" he shouted from around the corner.

"Um, yeah?" I called back.

There was a loud thump from above, and then Peter appeared from around the corner, crawling across the ceiling towards the microwave.

"Jeez, are you still hungry? You should've told me!" I said.

"Oh no, I'm not really, I promise, I just like watching the popcorn bag get all puffed up," he said, standing upside down and pressing his nose to the window of the microwave.

I laughed and turned to pour myself a fresh cup of coffee, when I saw something white peeking out from the underside of the table. I glanced back at Peter to see him still occupied by the popcorn bag, then quickly went to the table and peered under it.

There was Peter's Hulk bar (Spidey Bar?) from breakfast, webbed to the underside of the table.

Something flashed in the back of my mind and I saw Steve Rogers putting a container of day-old Chinese food in his sock drawer to save it for later, no doubt fingerprints left on him by the Great Depression.

I leave the bar under the table. Peter would be embarrassed if I called attention to it, and he might panic if it's moved. Steve was the same.

Peter and Steve have a lot more in common than I thought. Both superheroes, both with enhanced metabolisms, both growing up without enough food, both habitually hiding food for later, and of course, both rather good at pretending they are 100% A-okay.

If Cap were here he could help Peter a lot more than I could.

But he's _not_, he's out somewhere doing who-knows-what with Nat and Wanda and Metal Arm Guy and who the hell else he seems to have recruited into his little group. People have taken to calling them the Rogue Avengers, a rather fitting name I might add.

I stood up and touched the phone he gave me in my pocket. I'm a little ashamed to say I keep it with me all the time. Maybe I should call him. Not to unite the Avengers again necessarily, but to see if he can help the kid. He may be an idiot but he's a good person, a better man than me.

If Iron Man can't help Peter, maybe Captain America can.


	3. Safe? Let's keep it that way

"Peter, stop looking at the price tags, they don't matter," I said. Peter looked up at me, then dropped the tag on a pair of pants and shoved his hands into his pockets, looking nervously around the store. Peter had only one thing in the cart: a pair of jeans from the clearance aisle. He seemed to be having a very hard time trying to find something that he wouldn't feel guilty for getting. I kept trying to assure him he wasn't being greedy but it wasn't doing much good.

Peter knew that he couldn't wear the same clothes every day, but he seemed to be terrified of getting new ones at the same time.

"C'mon kid, there's gotta be _something_ in this store you like," I said. Peter looked around, an almost scared looked growing on his face.

"I-I'm sorry Mr. Stark, it's just everything here is so expensive looking-"

"Oh my god!" I said, smacking myself on the forehead. Peter jumped, then stared at me like I was crazy. "Jesus I'm an _idiot_, I brought you to a billionaire style store instead of a Peter Parker style store-"

"A _what_ now?"

I grabbed Peter's hand and started pulling him out of the boutique.

"Of course you don't like any of the stuff here, you don't go to stores where they sew the clothes with gold thread. I'm taking you somewhere more your speed."

"My speed?" Peter said, as we hopped into the car.

"Yep." I pulled up the location on my phone, then held it out for Happy to see. "Drive us here Happy."

Happy grumbled and then set off. Peter wrung his hands beside me, looking more and more worried.

"Hey," I said, and he looked at me. He looked so scared that I squeezed his hand. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"Yeah, I'm just-I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You seem nervous," I said.

"I, um, well a little bit, but I'm okay," he said. But he didn't relax. I almost said more, but Happy pulled into a parking lot and I looked out the window. And I couldn't help but grin at what I saw.

It was a Target store. Not a billionaire, I-pay-people-to-look-at-me store. Just a normal Target.

"Is this more your speed Underoos?" Peter looked out the window and gasped.

"Are you kidding? My speed is fuckin' Goodwill-This is awesome!" he said excitedly. "Aunt May never liked buying me clothes, she would just grab random stuff off the racks in the men's section at Goodwill and make me wear them. Most of it wasn't the right size."

I couldn't help feeling sad for him, but he was out of the car before I could say anything.

When Peter entered the store, he gazed around it like a child on Christmas day, looking far too excited for someone entering a common grocery store. He practically skipped to the menswear area, and started sifting through all the clothes without having to be prompted at all.

Peter found several superhero and science joke shirts that he liked, and after I reassured him that _yes_ he could buy all of them, we went to the changing rooms to try some on.

But it only took one outfit for Peter to realize something was wrong. He came back out of the changing rooms with most of the clothes still folded up in their original position, and a frown on his face.

"What's up kid? Not the right size?"

"No-Uh well, yes, but also no, um…" He scratched his head while he gathered his thoughts. "Well these _would_ be the right size, if I was my normal weight. But um, I'm not. The only ones that fit me were the small sizes."

"What size normally fits you?" I asked.

"Medium. Sometimes large, depending on the brand."

"I see. Well, why don't we pick out the clothes in a size that would fit you _normally_, and then we can just get you a few belts that you can wear until they fit you better? The shirts will still be a bit baggy but you'll grow into them. Does that sound good?"

Peter beamed and nodded vigorously, putting his pile of clothes into the shopping cart. Eventually we got almost everything he needed (I snuck in a few "expensive" things that Peter wouldn't even look at). Peter now had plenty of shirts, pants, sweaters, coats, socks, underwear, and pajamas to last him quite a long time. Now the only thing he needed was a couple belts.

Peter started to say that he really only needed one, when I cut him off, saying that having at least two was good in case the other one broke. I really just wanted to be able to spend more money on Peter, I wanted to communicate to him that money was and never will be an issue for him, and that I loved him enough to spend copious amounts of it on him.

However another problem arose when Peter started trying to find the right ones.

"Uh, Mr. Stark?" he said, putting the belts he had picked out back on the rack. "None of these are small enough for me."

"They're not?" I said, frowning at them in confusion. Though as I took a closer look I realized there was no way for any of these to fit him. None of the holes went back far enough.

"But, how do the pants you're wearing right _now_ fit you? They must have become too large just like your shirt."

Peter turned red.

"Uh-Well…" he said, before lifting his shirt a little so I could see his waistband. Instead of a belt, he had a strip of cloth that was tied in a knot in the front.

"It's um, a bit of one of my old shirts," he said, putting his shirt back down. "Aunt May always bought me clothes that were too big anyway, and she never bought me belts or anything, so I usually ended up cutting up an old shirt or using shoelaces from old shoes."

I looked at him for a moment, before pulling him into a tight hug. Peter gave a squeak of surprise, but after a second or so he hugged me back. When we broke apart he looked up at me in confusion.

"What was that for? I wasn't even sad."

"I would hate to be anything like your Aunt. Which means that I give you so many hugs you have no idea what to do with them all. But it also means that I'm going to have a couple belts made specially for you."

Peter started to open his mouth to protest, but I raised a finger to stop him.

"I know you don't like me spending money on you like that but this time you really need it. I'm not having you wear bits of old shirts with your new clothes until you fit into them. I promise, this is the only billionaire-style article of clothing I'll buy you, and even then it'll look just like a normal belt. Is that alright?"

Peter hesitated, then nodded.

"Alright then. Looks like we're done shopping! I'll get us checked out, you can go back to the car and wait with Happy. And _no_, you may not come to the checkout with me, I know you're going to try and look at the price," I said sternly, and Peter gave me a slightly disappointed look before leaving.

I kept an eye on him as he started to walk out, but I did a double-take when he paused for a fraction of a second, raising a hand to clutch his stomach. He made a beeline to the drinking fountains near the entrance, and drank deeply, chugging the water for almost a full minute. Then he left, disappearing through the automatic doors.

I checked my watch and realized it was almost three pm. We had breakfast almost five hours ago, and now that I'm paying attention I realize I'm actually pretty hungry. Which means Peter must be absolutely starving.

I sighed, and pinched the bridge of my nose.

_That must've been why he was so nervous in the car. He was hungry. Why can't I seem to take care of him properly? Why doesn't he feel like he can tell me these things? Is it something I'm doing wrong?_

No, there's no time to dwell on that now. He's obviously famished, so I have to grab him something to eat in the car to hold him over until we can get him some real food.

If I had been thinking a little more clearly I would've gone to see if they had any healthy snacks for him, something with actual protein, but instead I grabbed the first thing I saw, which happened to be a family size pack of oreos.

I got everything checked out as fast as I could and got it loaded into the car with Happy's help. Peter had gotten out to try and help as well, but I told him to stay in the car, saying I had a little surprise for him. Curiosity and guilt battled on his face as he hesitantly got back into the car.

Crap. I didn't mean for him to feel guilty. Maybe if I told him he _needed_ to eat he would feel less guilty. But he does have to learn that he's worthy of things he doesn't actually _need_. But then again, I was barely able to convince him to let me buy him clothes, something that is far more important than oreos. I wouldn't be surprised if he won't even touch the cookies when I give them to him.

I closed the trunk, and Happy got into the front seat while I sat next to Peter in the back. I told Happy to take us home, shut the window between the front and back seats, and then held up the oreos for Peter to see.

Peter's eyes went wide. His stomach gurgled quietly and pressed his hand to it, as though trying to silence it under his palm. Then his face turned bright red and he looked away.

"Sorry I didn't feed you earlier," I said, holding them out to him. "My bad. I'm shit at remembering when _I'm_ supposed to eat, much less than you have to eat more often than me."

"You don't have to be sorry, it's not your fault. I should've reminded you," he said, fiddling with his sleeves but still not touching the package.

"I guess that's true," I said, setting the package down between us. "But I know that's hard for you to do. I don't expect you to instantly improve after one heart-to-heart. Until you're able to remind me, I'm going to do better and remember myself. Or have Friday remind me. I told you you weren't going to go hungry anymore and I intend to keep that promise."

"You shouldn't have to take care of me. I'm almost sixteen now, I should be able to take care of myself. I should be able to go get food and clothes and everything by myself," he said, still not acknowledging the package.

"Yeah that's about the dumbest thing I've ever heard, and I've heard some pretty stupid shit. You're only fifteen, I would be very surprised if you could take care of yourself at all. Your brain stops growing at age twenty-five, and even then most people are shit at taking care of themselves. I don't think I figured it out until I was twice your age, and I didn't even have a million things pulling me down like you have.

"Besides," I continued, opening the package and pushing it towards Peter, who finally sighed and took one, "I'm _still_ bad at taking care of myself, even though I know how to. I don't sleep, I'm shit at remembering when to eat, and I think I drank nine cups of coffee yesterday. Plus I'm pretty sure that salad we had with dinner last night was the first healthy thing I've had in like a month."

Peter laughed around the cookie in his mouth. He took a few more and started eating them too, and I gave him an encouraging smile.

"And then of course," I said as we pulled into the garage of Stark Tower, "_You_ don't need to take care of yourself right now. _I'm_ taking care of you. _I_ am. _You_ have nothing you need to worry about."

Peter smiled, and continued to eat his cookies.

When we got home, Peter took the oreos, as well as his clothes, to his new bedroom, but didn't bring the oreos back down. I guessed it was hidden under his bed, with a few cookies left there just in case.

He'd done the same thing with the leftover salad last night. Putting it into a container and pushing it under his hoodie (technically _my_ hoodie, which he stole) when he thought I wasn't looking, before quickly going to his room.

_I really need to contact Steve with this_, I thought, as I started putting together a few sandwiches for us. _It's worse than I thought_. With Steve, he only did it every once in a while, I think the most he did it was three times a week, and only after a particularly hard mission. But Peter… Peter's been taking food to save for later at _least_ once a day, usually more.

He's terrified.

But maybe if I remembered to feed him more he wouldn't feel the need to do that.

I started to set up a reminder when I realized… I actually have no idea how often Peter needs to eat. These past couple of days it's been me running around getting custody of him (not in the most ethical of ways either, but I wasn't about to let him go into the foster care system, so if I had to grease a few palms to get him to be able to stay here, then so be it), so I haven't been able to keep track of his eating habits as well as I would like. I would really just force food under his nose whenever his stomach growled, which was rather a lot, the poor kid, and then we would have meals together. But there's no way that's enough for him.

"Hey kid," I said, handing him a couple sandwiches and taking a bite of my own. "So, how often _do_ you get hungry?"

"I dunno," he said, swallowing a bite of sandwich so he could talk. "Pretty often I guess. After I eat breakfast I get hungry maybe an hour later? My stomach starts to hurt an hour after that, then if I still don't eat I'll probably pass out before lunch."

"Jesus kid, how did you make a week out there by yourself?"

"I… didn't really. I passed out a lot," he said.

"And no one at work noticed?" I said, surprised.

Peter looked away.

"I would… hide. If I felt like I was going to faint. Go to the bathroom, or climb onto a roof if I was outside taking pictures. Only one person saw me faint because I didn't make it to the bathroom in time, this kid named Wade. He actually goes to my school, he's an intern, he just gets people coffee, prints things, runs little errands like that. He bought me coffee everyday, even though I couldn't pay him back. He even knew how I liked it, which was funny because he could never remember anyone else's orders."

"So he saw you faint?" I prompted, hoping to know the rest of the story.

"Yeah. When I came to, he'd carried me and set me on the couch in some random office. He said no one used it anymore so he had a secret hideout in there. Then he told me he was taking me to go to get a sandwich from Mr. Delmar's. Heh, he said he'd heard my stomach rumbling while I was asleep, said I should've eaten breakfast this morning and this wouldn't happen. That was the day Mr. Delmar put extra stuff on my sandwich too. I guess I had a few different people looking out for me that day," he said with a smile.

I nodded and thought for a moment. Looks like I'm going to have to find this Wade kid too, see if he wants a new car or something. I hadn't found time to get Mr. Delmar a gift either. Turns out trying to get custody of a kid you're not related to takes quite a bit of time, I haven't had a free moment until today.

And this kid bought Peter coffee. Remembered how he liked it. Every single day. Something tells me those weren't platonic coffees.

"What about at night? How often do you get hungry then?"

"Well, I don't get as hungry at night. I'm not using much energy to sleep, you know? But…" Peter bit his lip and looked down. "I do get hungry around the middle of the night. Sometimes I can't get back to sleep."

I sighed and put my hand on his back, rubbing it comfortingly.

"I've told you you're allowed to get up and get food, remember? You don't have to worry that I'll stop you."

"Yeah, I know, I know, it's just so _hard_. I've tried, but almost every single time I've talked myself out of it. I did eat something once, but I didn't eat _enough_. I just finished a crust of some pizza still left in the box. The kind of thing no one would notice was gone," Peter said, finishing his sandwiches. I pulled a Hulk bar out of my pocket (not a Spidey Bar, I'm still in the process of making those), and handed it to him.

I rubbed his back again, and he leaned into my touch as he ate the bar. His ribs still stuck out, but not as much as they used to. That's good, he's gaining some weight back.

I suddenly got an idea.

I quickly pulled him close and he squeaked in surprise, but then relaxed, snuggling closer to my side.

"Safe?" I said.

"Safe," he replied.

"Good. Let's keep it that way. Friday? Remind me when Peter needs to eat. Every hour should be good. On _the dot_, mind you. Never let me forget about meal times either. And when Peter wakes up at night, be sure to tell him to go grab something from the kitchen. Suggest some things if he's not sure what he wants."

"Yes Boss," Friday said sweetly.

Peter paused for a second, as though unsure that had actually happened. Then he suddenly clutched me closer, hiding his face in my shirt.

"Thank you," he whispered. "No one has ever done something like that for me before. Well, Ned and MJ and Wade have done things but-"

"It's not the same," I said.

"Yeah. It's nice when your friends help, but it's also nice when… someone older helps. I've never had someone older help me like this. Until I met you."

"Really? Not even your Uncle Ben?"

"Uncle Ben… Uncle Ben was… I think he was good. He never hurt me like Aunt May did. But he never stopped her either. She hurt him too. He was scared. It got worse after he… was killed. She took it all out on me. No one was there to stop her, and her husband had just died. So she blamed me."

"She shouldn't have done that. It's not your fault he died."

"Yes it is. I was there, I was in the apartment when he died."

"…Kid you told me he was killed when someone tried to mug him on the street."

"I _lied_," Peter said.

I froze.

"He didn't die out there. He died in his room. He shot himself in the head."

Peter said this as stiffly and as emotionlessly as he could. I could tell he was holding back his tears as he went on.

"I was in the living room. My spidey sense went off five minutes before I heard the shot. He was sitting on his bed with the gun in his hands for _five minutes_. I should've gone in there, I should've checked on him. But no, I sat there and I watched tv, making up excuses for why my spidey sense went off-"

"Peter," I said. "It's not your fault. I thought the same thing when my parents-"

But I cut off. My parents. Killed by the Winter Soldier. Steve knew. _Steve_.

_No_. This is _not_ the time to be thinking about that.

"It's _not_ your fault. I promise, it's not your fault, it was _his_ _choice_. It was a result of the circumstances he was in and it was a _bad decision_. He shouldn't have done that, but there was _nothing_ you did wrong. You did nothing wrong."

Peter took a shuddering breath, before sitting up and wiping tears from his eyes.

"I don't think I want to talk about that anymore," he said quietly.

"That's alright, we don't have to," I said. "How about you help me update your suit? We never actually got around to doing that did we?"

Peter's eyes lit up and he bounced off the couch, sprinting towards the lab, all sorrow evaporating from the air.

"I'll race you there!" he shouted over his shoulder.

"Hey! You know I have heart problems! And you've got Spidey Powers, I think this race is unfair!"

"You gave yourself an arc reactor for a heart but didn't give yourself superspeed or something? I'm disappointed Mr. Stark!" Peter said as he skidded into the elevator and repeatedly pressed the Close Door button.

"Friday, do _not_ let those doors close!"

"Yes Boss."

"Hey that's cheating!"

"If Spidey Powers isn't cheating then using Friday isn't cheating," I said, almost falling into the elevator after him.

When we got out of the elevator Peter sprinted to the lab, and was already getting out tools and pieces of paper when I arrived. We spent the rest of the day working on his suit, to the point where Peter fell asleep on the desk.

It was then that I got an idea.

I crept back into the lab where Peter was still sleeping, his head on his arms and snoring softly. It was around two am now, and Peter had fallen asleep around ten. He must've been pretty exhausted, because even though his stomach was clearly awake and rumbling so loud I could hear it from across the room, the rest of him was dead to the world.

I flicked on the lights, but only so they were bright enough to see where I was going. If his eyes were sensitive like the rest of his senses, I wouldn't want to overwhelm him with the light.

"Peteeeerrrr," I said, walking over and shaking his shoulder gently. "C'mon, wake up kid. I made you food!"

Peter snapped up suddenly at "food", and almost fell out of his chair. He stared at me with bleary, squinted eyes before speaking in a slurred voice.

"Tha's good, m'tummy is hungry," he said, rubbing his stomach as it grumbled. "It's bein' very loud."

I could barely hold back a laugh.

"I can tell, it's been growling for the past ten minutes or so. I just wasn't done making your food yet. C'mon, lets go get you fed, I think you'll like what I've made for ya."

As we went down to the dining room, Peter started to wake up more, bouncing a little on his feet in excitement. And when we finally made it to the table, Peter's eyes went wide at what he saw.

"Pie?" he squeaked.

"_Cherry_ pie," I said. "My recipe. Well technically one of my great-great-great-great grandmother's or something, but I make it better than her I'm sure. Anyway I figured we never had dessert so why not have some tonight?"

"I've never had this before," Peter said enthusiastically as he sat down in his usual spot.

"You've _never_ had cherry pie?"

"I've never had _any_ pie," Peter said, practically vibrating with excitement and hunger.

I paused at that statement, but quickly started serving Peter slices of pie to mask it.

"Really? Not even pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving?"

"There's no way we could get any relatives to come over. Everyone knows what Aunt May is like. My last Thanksgiving was the one before my parents died, and I don't even remember it."

"Why would your parents leave you with your Aunt and Uncle if they knew what your Aunt was like?"

"I don't know if they _really_ knew. And technically I wasn't left with both of them, I was left to Uncle Ben, and he happened to live with her. Then when he died, I was left alone with Aunt May. Maybe my parents thought he would break up with her soon, maybe they forgot to change their wills, maybe they thought she was just crazy and not actually abusive. Either way I ended up living with her. Up until now. Now I'm with you!"

Peter gave me a smile, until his stomach reminded him rather loudly about the food and he dug in.

"Mmmmmmmm…" he moaned, chewing slowly before swallowing. "This is it. I found my favorite pie."

"Kid I think there are a few other pies you need to try before you decide-"

"Nope, to hell with all the other pies, this is _the one_, I could eat this every day for the rest of my _life_."

I laughed and started eating my pie, the flavor of cherry tang bursting on my tongue. Peter finished five slices of pie, though the last two I had to encourage him to eat because he was still hungry, he was just scared to say it. When he finished, he laid back and rested his hands on his belly, sighing happily.

"You full Spider-Boy?" I said.

"It's Spider-_Man_. And yes, this was the best. It was like lunch, but instead of the middle of the day it's the middle of the night. Midnight Lunch. _Munch_."

I burst out laughing and Peter joined.

"I'm calling it that now," Peter said, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "It's called Munch now."

"Friday, schedule Munch for every day at midnight," I said.

"Done Boss. Munch is now scheduled," Friday said, and Peter and I laughed at how funny the word "Munch" sounded when Friday said it.

Eventually we both stopped laughing, and headed to bed.

"Goodnight Peter," I said.

"Goodnight Mr. Stark," Peter said with a yawn.

I was just starting to shut my door when Peter spoke again.

"Hey Mr. Stark?"

"Yeah kid?"

"Thank you. For everything."

I smiled softly.

"It's no problem. You deserve all the good things. Like I said, I'm here to help."


	4. Look, we have to talk

I thought Peter would get better if I remembered to feed him more. But he didn't. He still hid his food all over the tower, like he's preparing for disaster to strike at any given moment.

I didn't say anything. To be completely honest, I didn't know _what_ to say. For the next two weeks, I acted as though I didn't suspect a thing. If I found food, I'd leave it there and pretend nothing happened. If I spotted him sneaking something in his pocket or under his shirt, I'd pretend I hadn't seen.

Until one day, I couldn't pretend anymore.

"Hey Peter! Wanna come work on something in the lab with me?" I called down the hallway to Peter's bedroom.

He didn't answer.

"Peter?" I called again.

Still no answer.

_He probably has his headphones in_, I thought, walking down the hallway.

"Peter, I was thinking-" I cut off when I stepped into his doorway.

Peter was sitting cross-legged on the floor of his room, with at least twenty containers of food spread in front of him. I saw the oreos from two weeks ago, a few different containers of salad, a chinese take-out box, and several other things I didn't even know he'd taken.

But Peter was staring silently at a container holding a moldy sandwich. You couldn't even tell what type of sandwich it was before, but I knew that it had been a ham and cheese. He'd hidden it about four days into his stay, only eating half before putting the other into a container and pushing it into the large pocket of his (my) hoodie.

There were tears pouring down his face, but no sound came from him. He wasn't even shaking. It was like he was in shock.

"Peter?"

He slowly looked up at me, and there was fear and despair in his eyes.

"I… I didn't mean to let it rot," he said, his voice trembling in the way that I could tell he was trying desperately to keep it steady. "I'm sorry."

He watched my every move as I slowly walked over and got down on my knees. I pushed all the containers out of the way one by one, making sure my movements were easy and calm, then sat directly in front of him, my back facing his bed.

"It's okay. You're not in trouble," I said, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"I've been hiding food. Around the tower," he said, his voice dull and shaking, eyes staring blankly.

"I know."

Peter's eyes snapped into focus, his face wearing an expression of horror.

"What?"

"I know you've been hiding food. You've been doing it since your second day here," I said gently. "I thought it would help if I set up that reminder. Then you wouldn't be as worried. But it looks like it didn't change much."

Peter stared at me for another moment, before ducking his head and staring at his hands, letting tears fall onto his legs.

"This is bad, isn't it? This isn't normal, no one else does this, this is _bad_," he said. His shoulders started to tremble, and I wrapped my arms around him, practically pulling him into my lap so his back laid against my chest and my arms curled around his torso.

Safe.

"What, hiding food? No, not necessarily bad. Hiding food by itself isn't really a problem. It doesn't hurt me, doesn't hurt you, doesn't damage anything, especially since you've been so careful to put everything in containers. What is the problem though, is _why_ you do it. Do you know why you hide food?"

Peter thought for a moment, laying his head on my bicep and sniffing.

"I… I'm scared it'll go away. That someone will take it away from me, so I have to be prepared. I know you won't do that, but in the moment…" He trailed off, opening and closing his mouth, as though unsure how to explain himself.

"I understand. It's an old habit, right?" I said.

"Yeah, old habit. I always hid a little bit of the food that I got just in case Aunt May took my food privileges away."

I took a deep sigh and reached over to his bedside table, taking his fork that was still resting there. Dust had gathered on it, but it seemed to comfort him, seeing as he'd kept it all this time. I put it in his hand and he smoothed a thumb over the lumpy handle. Then I closed my eyes, resting my chin on his head and hugging him closer to my chest.

"Well, I hope you know that food isn't a privilege in my home. In _our_ home. It's a _right_. And I know you already know this, but I'm going to say it anyway, 'cuz it's nice to hear it. I am never, _ever_ going to take food away from you. I'll never punish you with it, I'll never use it against you, hell I'll never even _joke_ about something like that. You don't deserve to be worried about basic needs. You deserve to be happy, and rested, and full of all the best food in the world, every single second of your life."

Peter gave a hum of laughter and twisted around, wrapping his arms around my waist, his face pressed to my chest.

"Thanks Mr. Stark. And you too. You deserve all the happy things too," he said, his voice a little muffled by my shirt. I almost protested, but decided against it at the last minute. He'd opened an eye and was looking at me in a way that clearly said "this isn't a debate".

I guess he's caught on to my own bad habit of self-deprecation.

"Heh, thanks kid." I ruffled his hair. He smiled happily, then sat up, sitting back on his legs. He wiped the tears off his face, still clutching the fork, and gazed at the containers I'd pushed to the side. His smile faded to a more focused look.

"I… guess we should go get all the other food I hid, right?" he said.

"Huh, I didn't even think of that," I said, looking at the containers as well. "But yeah, I suppose we should. We'd have to do it eventually, might as well do it now."

"Actually," Friday's voice said, "that may have to wait, Boss. It's lunchtime now."

My stomach gave a loud rumble of hunger at the mention of lunch, and Peter suddenly started laughing.

"Hahaha! For once it's not _my_ stomach making all the noise!" he said, and I started laughing too.

"C'mon," I said, getting up and pulling Peter with me. "How do you feel about grilled cheese?"

Peter licked his lips and nodded. He set his fork back on his bedside table, and then we both headed to the kitchen.

Over the couple weeks Peter has lived here we've both fallen into the habit of making meals together. Not all his Hourlies, as Peter called them, just breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I think part of him still feels obligated to repay me, but at least it's something we get to do _together_. It's better than him trying to clean the entire tower by himself, which I'd caught him trying to do twice before we started cooking.

Peter began buttering the bread while I heated the stove and got out the cheese and a couple plates. The pan was just about ready when Peter handed me the stack of bread he'd just buttered. There was enough for four sandwiches.

I looked up at Peter, who was now sitting on the counter, and raised my eyebrows.

"Four? Two for each of us?" I said.

"Yep!" he said, swinging his legs a little and not at all seeing the problem.

"Kid, you think that I, a normal man with a normal metabolism, need the same amount of food as a _growing teenager_ with an _enhanced metabolism_?"

Peter sighed, his feet going still.

"…No?" he said.

"That's right. Make two more. That's two for me, four for you," I said, turning back to the pan and laying down one of the slices, and smiling at the satisfying sizzle of the butter against the hot metal.

"_Four_ for me? I dunno if-"

"If you can't finish it all then we can save it for later," I said, making sure my voice was gentle but firm. "You're still underweight. I'm not going to force you to eat it, of course, but having it available to you is important. It's important to eat until you're full, especially for Spidey-Kids who need it."

I flipped the sandwich and Peter silently buttered more slices of bread and handed them to me. He still didn't speak as I started assembling another sandwich while the first cooled on a plate, so I turned to look at him.

He was back on the counter, staring hard at the floor and looking oddly angry with his brow pinched and his hands gripping the counter edge beneath him.

"You okay, Peter?" I said. That's another thing that hasn't improved much: he still doesn't tell me when he's feeling sad or angry. I can easily _ask_ him if he's alright, but it still hurts to see him so reluctant to say how he feels.

He looked up at me, then looked down again, avoiding my face.

"I'm… I'm sorry I'm still underweight. It's been weeks now, I should be better. You shouldn't have to worry about that anymore," he said quietly.

"Oh-Oh kid, _no_, that's not what I meant, that's not what I meant at _all_," I said, putting down the spatula and standing in front of him. "It's not your fault, you don't have to be sorry. These things take time, and who knows how your powers are affecting all this. We're working on this together, remember? We're going to get you better, and we can take as long as we need to do that."

Peter finally looked up and gave me a smile, his hands unclenching and instead sitting in his lap as he swung his legs. I turned and flipped another sandwich onto the second plate, then handed the first, more cooled off sandwich, to Peter, who's belly snarled at the sight of it.

He'd already finished his sandwich by the time a third one had been grilled, so I gave that one to him, then the fourth I saved for me, and the last two were for him of course. I finished my second sandwich at the same time he finished his third, and he looked at his remaining one a little apprehensively.

"Somethin' wrong kid?" I asked, putting the pan and my plate in the sink. "I didn't burn, it did I?"

"No, I just… I want to-I feel like I should…" He trailed off, taking a deep sigh.

"I want to hide it," he said in barely more than a whisper. I paused for a moment before nodding.

"Well, are you still hungry?" I asked. He absentmindedly touched his stomach, thinking.

"No, not hungry anymore," he said.

"And are you full?" I asked.

Peter looked up at me with a slightly confused face.

"There _is_ a difference," I said, leaning on the side of the fridge. "There's a little grey area, and for a while now that seems to have been where you operate. Am I right in saying you tend to eat _just_ until your stomach stops growling?"

Peter thought for a moment, then nodded, but still looked a little confused.

"But, isn't that the same thing? If I'm not hungry, then that means I'm full, right?"

"Not necessarily," I said. "What you're doing is you're eating just enough to survive. You're not eating enough to _live_. There's a difference between eating to stave off hunger pains, and eating to feel _good_, and _happy_, and _energized_."

"Oh, okay," Peter said, the confusion on his face now replaced with understanding. "I've eaten to… 'feel good' before, I just-I dunno, it's another bad habit. I'm not used to getting more food than before, I mean I'm still getting used to my Hourlies."

"Of course! And that's okay, I'm here to help you with that. You'll get used to it, and you'll get healthier, and stronger, and soon enough you'll be swinging from the buildings of New York again."

"Yeah! I miss that," he said with a grin, taking a bite of his sandwich.

"I can tell, you've been staring out the window whenever there's a moment of silence. That, and the endless suit tinkering. Though I suppose I shouldn't talk, after New York I made over forty suits," I said with a laugh.

"Over forty!? Wow," Peter said, with awe in his voice. I decided against mentioning that it was because I was terrified, not because I was bored.

"You're so cool Mr. Stark," Peter said through a mouthful of grilled cheese.

"You too, kid," I said.

After Peter finished his sandwich, promising that he was definitely full and he didn't want any more, we set out to collect all of the food Peter had hidden. We started in his bedroom, gathering up all the containers and bringing them to the kitchen where they were sorted into "Still Good" or "Gone Bad". When we finally got to the rotten sandwich, Peter stared at it again, as though frozen on the spot.

"You alright kid?" I asked. Peter nodded.

"Yeah, it's just… I just can't believe I let it rot. I never used to let food go bad," he said. He sounded annoyed with himself, shoulders tense with frustration and guilt.

"Well, I imagine you _couldn't_ do that. You always had to eat it before it went bad, 'cuz if you didn't, you would've… starved to death," I said, my chest getting a little tight.

"I've never thought of myself as that. Starving, I mean," Peter said, setting the container down but not looking me in the eye. "When I think of that I think of people with eating disorders or people in fourth world countries. I've never thought that _I_ had that problem."

He let out a small laugh before throwing out the sandwich.

"I just called it 'being hungry'."

"Well, I suppose that makes sense," I said, putting a few Hulk Bars away. "Everyone has their own version of things. I mean, look at what normal people think is scary. Bugs, fire, clowns, that kinda stuff. But they've never had to fight a supervillain, have they?"

"Huh. Yeah, I guess so," Peter said.

"So it makes sense that you never thought of yourself as starving," I continued. "But like with fears, just because there's supervillains, doesn't mean fire isn't scary."

I walked over to him and put my hands on his thin arms, smoothing my thumbs back and forth over them.

"Just because there are people who have eating disorders or live in fourth world countries, doesn't mean that you weren't starving too, kid."

Peter frowned, looking up at me.

"I… never thought of it that way," he said.

"Well, I _am_ a genius after all," I said with a smirk. Peter laughed and gave me a hug. I always love his hugs.

"You always make me feel better. I think you're a wizard, Mr. Stark," he said.

"Ha! I should say the same about you, Underoos," I said, hugging him back and ruffling his hair.

After a few moments we broke apart and started looking for all of Peter's other hiding places.

We ended up making it a game. I would guess where Peter had hidden food, and Peter would tell me if I was right or not. I only won about half the time, due to many of the places being ones I didn't even know about, like on top of a cupboard in the lab, a place he could only access by flipping onto the ceiling, or a Hulk bar webbed to the inside of the lid of my toolbox.

How the hell was I supposed to have guessed any of _that_?

"What's the score, Fri?" I asked, after I once again lost to "Guess where the food is?"

"You have won 3 of 20 games, Boss." Okay, so maybe not _half_ the time.

"So I'm losing."

"Spectacularly."

Peter laughed, then lifted up a chair to grab two containers underneath it. Of course the one time I try to choose a difficult spot, it's under a freaking chair.

It's like he _knew_ I would guess DUM-E's control panel.

When we'd found everything, taking a break for one of his Hourlies, of course, we again sorted everything into "Still Good" and "Gone Bad". Peter looked mournfully at all the Bad food as he threw it away, every part of his face etched in guilt. It took a few different reminders that it wasn't his fault for him to look less pained, but it never really went away.

"So… what now?" Peter asked after we put the last of the Good food away.

"Well I was thinking we watch a movie and after that we have some dinner? Not sure what to do after dinner, but we'll figure something-"

"No, I meant like, about me. How… how do we fix me?" he asked, pointing a finger to his chest.

"We don't have to _fix you_. You're not broken, you just have some problems. Everyone has problems they have to solve," I reminded him.

"Oh, right, um, how do we fix my _problem_ then? What do we do now?"

I sighed and crossed my arms, thinking.

"Well… to be honest, I don't know. But, I know someone who will," I said. "He's gone through something similar, and you two actually have a lot more in common than I thought. I… I wish I'd called him earlier but I was hoping I wouldn't have to. He and I… aren't on the best of terms."

"Oh," Peter said, frowning. "You don't have to if you don't want to, maybe we can figure it out on our own, I wouldn't want you to have to talk to someone you don't like just because of me-"

"No, no, you're worth it, kid. And it's about time I talk to him anyway. I think we both did stupid things the last time we were together, with a lot of the stupid being on me."

Peter gave me a disbelieving look.

"Okay, he did stupid shit too, but I _really was_ being stupid. At some points. He was also being an _idiot_-Ya know what? It doesn't matter. Besides, I have something I need to give back to him," I said. I felt a hole of guilt open up in my chest as I remembered his shield tucked away in my closet.

Peter nodded.

"You really think he can help me?" he said.

"Kid, if there's only one person in this world who can help you, it's him."

"And… if he can't?"

"He _can_. He's never let me down before, not even when we fought."

At that moment, a quiet beep sounded in my earpiece, Friday's Hourly reminder.

"You hungry kid? It's time for one of your Hourlies," I said. Peter nodded enthusiastically, and we both headed to the kitchen to grab him something to eat before our movie.

Peter had gone to bed two hours ago.

I'd started pacing in front of the phone on the table two hours ago.

In that time I'd picked up the phone twice, actually dialed once, but slapped it shut and put it back down again both times.

So yeah. Making great progress.

"C'mon Tony, it's just _Steve_, he's not gonna fuckin kill you through the reciever," I told myself. "Quit being an idiot."

But I still didn't touch the phone. Instead I preoccupied myself by looking out at the city through the windows. It was so beautiful at night, with all the lights twinkling in the buildings. If you unfocused your eyes, they could be stars.

I could see why Peter wanted to be back out patrolling so bad. But he can't go out until he's healthy again. Healthier than before in fact. Before, his aunt was starving him and hurting him and making his life a living hell, and he was _still_ able to save people. Imagine what he could do without any of those problems.

I picked up the phone, dialed, and pressed call.

No going back.

It rang twice.

"Tony?" came the voice I knew so well.

"Hey Steve. Look, we have to talk."

"Okay, okay, now let me get this straight: There is no real, world threatening emergency happening?" Steve said.

"_Yes_," I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. "I've explained this to you five times now Spangles, Loki isn't back, Ultron isn't back, this isn't about HYDRA, or Asgard, or your parent-murdering boyfriend-"

"_Tony-_"

"Yes, yes, I know, I know, I'm sorry, just-Please _listen_ to me here, okay? I _need_ your _help_, I wouldn't have called you on this stupid ancient phone if it wasn't important," I said.

I heard Steve sigh and what sounded like a chair creaking.

"Alright, I'm listening. You were talking about Queens, right?"

"Peter, yes. He needs your help. He's been living with me for the past few weeks," I said, finally feeling like we're getting somewhere.

"Living with you? Why?"

"He… his home life was pretty shit. I won't go into details, I don't know how much he wants other people to know, but basically it resulted in him being kicked out and he lived on the streets for a week before I realized something was wrong."

"Oh god." That voice didn't sound much like Steve, but I chalked it up to this phone being as old as the captain himself.

"So I took him in. And he… he was in really bad shape Steve, _really_ bad. He was starving and exhausted, and he was just so scared and lost and-"

"Mr. Stark? Whatcha doin'?" I whirled around with the phone still pressed to my ear.

There was Peter, standing in a pair of Star Wars pajamas I bought for him, his hair messed up and his eyes bleary with sleep.

"Oh! Peter, hey, uh, this is just a business call. What're you doing up?"

"I was gonna get Munch," he said, rubbing an eye. "But if you're busy I can come back in a little bit-"

"No, no, you get some food kid, I'll finish this up in my room. Make sure you eat enough, alright? Until you feel good, remember? Come get me or ask Friday if you need a little help, okay?" I said, ruffling his hair and walking into the hallway to my room.

"Mmkay. 'Night Mr. Stark," he said, sleepily opening the refrigerator and squinting at its contents.

"Goodnight kid," I said. I shut my door, and sat on my bed, returning to the conversation. "Sorry-"

"What's Munch?" Steve asked.

"Oh, it's um, his 'midnight lunch', the meal he eats in the middle of the night," I said, smiling at the memory of the two of us eating cherry pie.

"Just like me," Steve said, sounding a little amused.

"He's _just_ like you, Steve. I swear, sometimes he reminds me so much of you it makes me crazy," I said.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Steve, I've never met someone more similar to you than that kid. He has a super metabolism _just_ like yours, eats every hour, calls them his Hourlies, the dork, and then of course his Munch at night. And he's also really stubborn like you, he's got that same rigid sense of justice, all he wants to do is help people. He's always talking about wanting to 'be there for the little guy', it's his entire drive-Hell, you fought him, you saw how committed he was. But he also… Do you… do you remember how you would hide food?" I said tentatively. There was a moment of silence before Steve answered.

"Don't… Don't tell me he does that, please don't say he does that," he said. His voice sounded pained. I didn't realize that habit had bothered him so much. It never bothered me, or the other Avengers. But apparently, it bothered him a lot. Enough for him to sound almost mournful at the idea that Peter was going through the same thing.

"He does, Steve. He's been hiding food around the tower since the moment he got here. He's terrified. He's scared someone is going to take it away from him, he's scared he's going to starve again," I said.

Steve didn't say anything, so I went on.

"He needs your help, Steve. He can't recover and go back to saving people without you. I've tried, but I've only been able to do so much. He _needs_ you," I said. I wasn't sure what else to say, so I fell silent, waiting for his answer.

"You have to do it, Steve." Okay, that was definitely _not_ Cap's voice.

"Who the fuck-Steve am I on fucking speakerphone!?"

"…Yes," Steve said.

I sighed and flopped onto my back, pinching the bridge of my nose again.

"Alright. Who else is on here?"

"Uh, just me and-"

"The 'parent-murdering boyfriend'," said the parent-murdering boyfriend.

It took every ounce of willpower in my body to not hang up right then and there.

"Jesus fucking Christ-You know what, whatever, I don't care, all I care about right now is _Peter_. He needs your help, Cap," I said, trying to keep my anger from boiling over.

"Tony, I get that he needs help, he's gone through some tough stuff from what I can tell, but what makes you think _I'm_ the best person for him?"

"Steve, you're the _only_ person for him!" I exploded, standing up and almost shouting into my phone. It was a good thing my bedroom is too far down the hall for Peter to hear me.

"You're the only person who could possibly know a _semblance_ of what he's feeling! Jeez Cap, were you not listening when I said he's your fucking mirror image!? Do you think I didn't try and think of any other option for him!? It's been _weeks_ and every single solution I thought of never worked as well if I didn't have you in the equation! He has been through _so much_, so much pain, and manipulation, and fear, and I can't _help him_ the way that _you_ can okay!? Dammit Steve, _please_!"

I stopped, breathing heavily and running a hand through my hair, waiting for him to answer. But if I was honest, I already knew what he was going to say.

"I'll be there in three days," Steve said. "But I have to bring Bucky."

"I can take care of myself Steve-"

"I'm not leaving you alone again Buck."

"I don't think it's a good idea-"

"It's fine," I said. And upon saying it, I realized it was true. Peter's safety and happiness overruled any feelings I had before. I was still angry of course. But my anger was no longer important.

"If that's what it takes for you to get your patriotic ass over here, I don't care if you bring him," I said. "And you're not getting here in three days, you're getting here in _two_, I'm sending a jet to your location right now."

I made a motion with my hand, which prompted Friday to obey the command.

"How do you know where we are?" Bucky asked.

"I'm not an idiot, I can track a phone," I said. "I've had your location from the moment Steve answered my call."

"Oh," said Steve.

"I'll have rooms made for you two then, but I suppose we'll have to move to the compound soon, there's not quite enough room here. We'll probably need a week to move all his stuff to the compound," I said, talking more to myself than to them. "And then of course once we get there I'll have to make a room for Bucky, and-Well I suppose you already have a room, Steve, but it's been a while since you've been in it, huh? We could always redecorate. We should have the whole thing covered wall to wall in American flags, national anthem plays when you walk through the door, maybe some barbeque scented candles, OOOH and a comforter with the U.S. Constitution Preamble printed on it-"

"Hilarious, Tony," Steve interrupted. I could hear Bucky laughing, until he cut off with a yelp. Steve must've smacked him. I smiled. I'd never known Cap to be so playful, he must really like this Bucky guy.

"Thank you, Steve. For helping him," I said after their giggles died down. "I… I'm sorry for yelling. It's just… I would lay down on the wire for this kid and I just don't know what I would've done if you didn't come help him."

"It's no problem Tony, you don't have to apologize. I'm always here to help."


	5. Call me Steve

The best part about the jet ride was watching Bucky scrutinize every facet of the plane. He'd never been in a private jet before, and he was particularly weirded out by the lack of pilot. He kept saying he could fly better than a computer.

"I promise, Tony has us in good hands. He wants us to get there safe, remember?" I said, watching Bucky pace from one end of the plane to the other.

"No, he wants _you_ to get there safe. I'm pretty sure he'd toss me into the propellers if he could," Bucky countered. "He'll probably shoot a hole in my chest the moment he sees me."

"He won't do any of that. He knows that if you aren't safe then I'm not helping him," I said, standing up.

"And _I_ know that if you don't help that kid-even if Tony kills me-I'll come back from the grave and _strangle_ you," Bucky said, pausing his pacing and pointing an angry finger between my eyes. "Like Tony said, you two are practically the same person. I remember fighting him: I felt like a kid in Brooklyn again, listening to him run his mouth like he couldn't get hurt. Made me think of the first time we met, to be honest."

"Oh god, don't remind me," I said, giving a laugh and crossing my arms. Bucky smiled slyly.

"You never did know when to shut up. You had too much heroism for that tiny little body," Bucky said, sidling up to me and resting his forearms on my shoulders. "'I can do this all day,' said the 90 pound asthmatic with a couple quarters in his pocket."

"Ha! Not so little anymore, I could beat those bullies into next week if I had this body back then," I said. Bucky hummed in agreement, running his cool metal hand (a kind gift from Shuri) down my torso, and he laughed as I flexed my abs so he could feel the muscles better.

"I have to say though," he said, and he gave me a sharp poke in the stomach that made me yelp. "It's way more satisfying to save the skinny kid from Brooklyn."

I laughed and circled my arms around his hips, giving him a kiss and touching my forehead to his.

"Aww, c'mon, are you saying you're not a fan of this new body?" I teased.

"Oh no I am _definitely_ a fan," he said. "Very much a fan, _yes_. But saving the tiny idiot who doesn't know when to quit? That shit made me feel like someone out of one of those fantasy books you love so much."

I laughed and gave him another kiss.

"My hero," I said.

The jet landed just in time, being confined in that space for over twenty-four hours was starting to make me go bizerk. Bucky was oddly calm, but I suppose he's used to small spaces. He told me once that the room he slept in while under control of HYDRA was too small for him; he had to tiptoe around his bed to get to the door. A private jet was definitely bigger than that.

When I stepped out of the plane, the sun shone directly in my eyes, and for a moment I was blinded before I held up my hand to shield my face. In the few seconds it took my eyes to adjust, I spotted Happy standing next to a black car. Bucky and I made our way over there, lugging our suitcases behind us.

"Hey Happy," I said. "Thanks for coming all this way to get us."

"What did you expect? Did you think Tony was gonna make you get a cab?" Happy said gruffly. Yep, same old Happy. He took our bags, insisting almost angrily that we get in the car. Upon entering we saw that the window between the front and back seats was closed.

"That's Happy, huh?" Bucky asked after shutting the door.

"Yep," I said.

"Hmm. He's nothing like the dwarf," Bucky said. I snorted.

"Dork," I said. Happy started the car a few moments later and we were off. Bucky and I looked out our windows at the city as it flashed by, our hands laced together between us. We passed a few restaurants along the way, and I almost wished Happy would stop at one. I wasn't quite hungry per se, but the idea of eating definitely wasn't unwelcome. But we didn't, and soon the thought was driven far from my mind as we entered the garage of Stark Tower.

And there he was. Tony. Waiting there like the months we've been apart never even happened. He even had a soft smile on his face.

I stepped out of the car, Bucky following close behind. We attempted to grab our luggage but Happy insisted on taking it up for us, saying Tony wanted to talk to me as soon as possible. Only Tony would be impatient enough that he couldn't wait two minutes while we put away our stuff, I suppose.

"Well if it isn't the Star Spangled Man With A Plan," Tony said, clapping me on the back and blatantly ignoring Bucky.

"Hey Ton'," I said warmly. "Couldn't wait for us to get settled could you?"

"Nope, the kid's waiting for ya, can't wait another second," Tony said.

"Woah-Wait I'm meeting him today? _Now?_" I said. Tony cocked an eyebrow at me.

"Well _yeah_, Capsicle. What, did you think you were gonna hide from him until you were ready?"

"I-No-But-"

"Well then there's no problem! Now c'mon, there's a few things I have to tell you," he said, starting off at a brisk walk.

"I-Alright," I said, deciding not to start an argument. Last time that happened, the Avengers broke up. Bucky followed me, silent as ever.

"First off, Peter is very sensitive, you can't raise your voice too much, he'll get anxious. Don't make any sudden movements or loud noises. Also, don't stand between him and a doorway, and don't close any of the blinds on the windows, he hates feeling like he doesn't have a way out. If he starts to look worried or uncomfortable just tell him it's okay and that he can come get me if he needs me, alright? Oh, and he's just had one of his Hourlies, but if he gets hungry again while you two are talking, do _not_ tell him to wait until you're done talking, just come out and tell me okay? And _please_ don't comment on how much he does or doesn't eat, he's very tense about that-"

"Tony," I said. He glanced backwards at me, and I could see the worry knitted into his features. "Believe it or not, I know how to work with people who have some pretty severe trauma." Bucky squeezed my hand and I squeezed back.

"And-" I continued, "-do you really think that _I_, the one who went hungry as a kid _just_ like he did, am going to tell him to wait to eat? Or comment on him like that?"

Tony sighed, crossing his arms and covering his mouth with his hand as he thought.

"I know, I know, sorry, I should just, just let you do your thing, it's just…" he trailed off, and when he looked up again I swear his eyes were shining a little. "I don't want him to get hurt again, especially in a place that's supposed to be safe for him."

"Of course!" I said. "Of course, yes, that's completely fair. But you don't have to worry so much, I can already see that you've been doing everything you can to help him. You even called _me_, and if that doesn't show how much you care about this kid, I don't know what does."

Tony, nodded and took a deep sigh before walking again, turning into the elevator.

"He also likes hugs. They make him feel safe, he says. He's always liked physical touch, my guess is he's a bit touch-starved, actually," Tony said.

I noticed Bucky react subtly, glancing up at Tony, before quickly staring at the floor again, with a thoughtful look on his face.

"Thanks Tony," I said. "I promise, you really don't have to worry, we'll be fine. You just have to let go for now. Go relax while I talk to him. Nothing will happen if you leave him with me for an hour or so."

"You're asking _me_ to _relax_? I may have changed a bit since you've seen me Spangles, but not _that_ much," Tony said with a nervous chuckle and a shake of his head. I smiled, then clapped his back as we stepped out of the elevator.

"Just leave it to me for now," I said. Tony gave a small smile, then turned and called down a hallway leading to what looked like two bedrooms.

"Underoos! I got someone here who wants to meet you!"

"Coming!" Peter said. It was only then that I realized I had only ever seen him suited up, I had no idea what he looked like.

But even though I technically had no expectations, I was a little surprised when a skinny little kid bounced out from around the corner, almost tripping over his own feet in the process. I was expecting someone a little bigger, and a bit more coordinated considering how well he fought. But, Tony _did_ say he's been malnourished for a long time, so I suppose he wouldn't be very big, would he?

But despite his small frame and general clumsiness, he somehow looked like one of the happiest people I'd ever met. He had chocolate brown hair that grew in gentle, slightly messy curls, and eyes of the same color. His skin was pale but flushed with life, and his smile was kind and excited.

It seemed to take him a moment to register what he was seeing, but once he did, his mouth dropped open and his eyes flew wide.

"Cap-Cap-Captain America!?" he sputtered. I laughed at the disbelieving look on his face. "Oh my god-Captain America! Hi, uh, what-what're you doing here? Wait are you gonna fight Mr. Stark again? 'Cuz my suit's still in the lab, I can't fight until the webshooters are fully upgraded-"

"Woah, no no no, we're not fighting, kid," Tony said. "And if we were, _you_ aren't allowed to fight yet, so no webshooting for you, even when they're done upgrading."

Peter huffed in frustration and I took the moment to speak.

"Tony's right, we're not here to fight. I'm actually here to help you," I said. Peter blinked confusedly, and glanced at Tony for clarification.

"Remember a couple days ago, when you asked how we were going to solve your problem?" he said. "And I said I knew someone who could help?"

"Yeah, you said we had stuff in common and that you two were… arguing…" Peter said, frowning. Then, it seemed to click in his head because his eyes went wide again, and he pointed at me while looking at Tony. "Wait-He's gonna-_Captain America_ is gonna help me!?"

"Sure am," I said. He looked back at me, seemed to remember who he was pointing at, and quickly put down his hand, before then again putting it up, asking for a handshake.

"I'm-I'm Peter by the way," he said. I shook his hand, again surprised by the strength of his grip.

"Call me Steve. Cap is good too, whichever you like," I said. "Why don't we head somewhere quiet? Is your room a good place?" I asked.

"Y-yeah, that's a good place," he said.

"Alright then, lead the way," I said. I started to follow him until I realized I was still holding Bucky's hand. I motioned for Peter to keep going, then turned to face him.

"I think I should talk with him alone, Buck," I said. "You alright to stay out here?"

"Oh, right, yeah of course," Bucky said, glancing hesitantly over his shoulder. "_He is definitely gonna kill me_," he whispered.

"No, he won't. Just go find your room, grab something to eat, take a nap, watch tv, do whatever. I think Tony is content with ignoring you, I doubt he'll start anything. He'll warm up to you eventually, it'll just take some time," I said. "You two are similar you know, never know when to relax."

Bucky scoffed, then squeezed my hand before walking away. I turned and walked into Peter's room.

For the first twenty minutes we didn't even talk about his problem, as Peter had wanted to know anything and everything about the time I was born in. He asked about the music, the clothes, the people, life in the army, everything. I'd never met someone so interested in the past; most people I met were more fascinated with the future.

He sat with his back against the headboard, while I sat against the wall, my feet going over the side of the bed. Peter had his arms wrapped around a plush red pillow, his chin resting on top of it as he continued to ask questions.

"So, how did you meet Sergeant Barnes?" Peter asked. I smiled.

"Oh gosh, I met him when I was twelve? Thirteen? Something like that, but he saved me from some bullies trying to steal my money. This was before the serum of course, so I was a skinny little asthmatic kid who didn't know how to keep my mouth shut."

"You had asthma too!? I had asthma before the spider bite!" Peter said excitedly.

"Really? No kidding?" I said.

"Yeah! I had glasses too, but I didn't need them anymore after I got my powers," he said. "So he saved you from the bullies? That's really nice of him."

"Yep. Bought me dinner afterwards too, best food I think I've ever had. I hadn't eaten in days back then, of course," I said. Peter didn't respond so I looked up at him.

"Mr. Stark said that you went through a similar thing I did," he said, starting to fiddle with his sleeves. "I… I didn't think he meant like that."

"I see," I said. "Well, Tony said you and I are similar in lots of ways, not just having gone hungry. He said you were really brave, and kind, and you have that rigid sense of justice, all just like me."

Peter blushed, hugging the pillow closer to his chest.

"He said that because we're so similar, I can help you in a lot of ways that he says he couldn't do as well himself. So that's what I'm here to help you with," I said, and I rested my hand on his leg comfortingly. Remembering what Tony said about how he liked contact, I left it there.

"I grew up during what you guys call now the Great Depression. There were a lot of people out of a job back then, my family included. My dad died when I was six, apparently he was abusive to my mom and I but I don't remember much of that, and my mom died of tuberculosis when I was eighteen, but she'd been sick ever since I was little. She said she always felt bad that I inherited her frailness. Since she was too sick to work, I had to try and find a job, which was damn near impossible, especially for a weak kid like me. I ended up doing any random odd jobs I could find, just to try and keep my mom alive."

Peter listened quietly as I went on, looking at my hand on his ankle idly.

"So, you can imagine that I went hungry a lot. Part of the reason I was so sick all the time was because I didn't eat enough, and I didn't eat enough because I was sick all the time and no one would hire me. It was just a big, miserable cycle," I said. "But then I met Bucky, and things got better."

"They did?" Peter said, his eyes lighting up.

"Oh yeah. Well, our _situation_ didn't really get better, but I finally had a friend to go through it all with. I'd never had a friend before him. Having Bucky around made everything ten times better than it would've been alone, even when my mom died," I said. "It was in the army, though, that I started a habit that followed me to the twenty-first century."

"A habit? What habit?" Peter asked. I gave him a soft smile.

"Hiding food," I said.

Peter's eyes snapped up to meet mine, his jaw dropping open slightly. Then he hugged the pillow tighter to his chest, hiding his nose.

"I didn't want to starve again, so I prepared for the moment when that might happen by hiding food for later. And to be honest, it was a good idea at the time."

Peter looked up at me in confusion.

"Why?" he asked from behind the pillow.

"Well, after I joined the army, I got dosed with a super soldier serum. It gave me super strength, stamina, agility, got rid of all the sickness in my body. But it also gave me an enhanced metabolism, one very similar to yours," I said.

Peter's eyes lit up and his grip on the pillow loosened.

"But just after I was dosed, the doctor who was supposed to help me afterwards was shot and killed. So, nobody knew what my needs were, not even me. At least until I woke up from the ice. So I got the same rations as everyone else, but by saving and hiding some of the food I got, I was able to make it last longer so I didn't practically starve to death between rations. And of course, I had higher stamina than everyone else, so nobody suspected a thing since I didn't look or act like anything was wrong."

"Why didn't you ask for more food?" Peter said, looking deeply concerned.

"Well… I didn't think I deserved it. There was always someone else who needed it more, someone injured, an older soldier, a younger soldier, a nurse, a civilian, there was always someone who had it worse off than me, and who needed the extra food more than I did. Not once did I think to ask for extra rations. Even if I was up all night with hunger pains, even when I felt faint and passed out. It just wasn't a possibility," I said.

"Oh."

"And like I said, that habit followed me through the ice. When I woke up, I lived in an apartment for a little while and then moved into the compound. And I swear, I'm still constantly surprised by the sheer amount of food we have now. It took me a while to get out of the habit, but by the time I moved to the compound it wasn't nearly as bad as it used to be. And while in the compound I got better and better, until the only times I really hid food were after particularly difficult missions. At those times it was like a comfort thing, something that made me feel safe after feeling especially _unsafe_ during a mission."

"You got better?" Peter said, looking hopeful.

"Yeah, lots better. I can't even remember the last time I hid food now," I said with a smile. "And… Tony told me you hide food too."

Peter looked away, again gripping the pillow tighter to his chest.

"Which of course is why I'm here. I want to help you solve that problem."

It was a moment or so before he looked back at me, and another moment before he spoke.

"How?" he asked cautiously.

"Well I tried a few different things. They didn't all work for me, but the ones that did helped a lot. But I think one of the biggest things that helped me was knowing _why_ I hid food. Do you know why?"

Peter nodded.

"Me 'n Mr. Stark talked about it. I'm scared it'll get taken away, so I have to hide it so I don't…" he trailed off, giving a small shake of his head. "But um… there's another reason, but I didn't tell Mr. Stark."

"Why?" I asked.

"He was already really worried about me. I didn't wanna make him more worried. I should've told him, but I was scared," Peter said, clutching the pillow so tight I was worried it would tear.

"It's okay. I can explain whatever it is to him if you want, that way you don't have to," I said gently. He loosened his hold on the pillow in relief.

"Thanks," he whispered. "I… I know I'm not starving anymore. But, sometimes it's hard for me to tell. Sometimes I panic when I get hungry. I panic and I think I'm-you know, starving, again, and then I save my food because I think it will help me stop panicking next time. But it doesn't."

I nodded silently as he continued.

"I don't know why I couldn't tell Mr. Stark that. I just-I didn't wanna freak him out, I didn't want him to think… I don't know what I didn't want him to think. I didn't want him to know. I thought maybe I could fix that bit by myself," he said. "But I think I was okay with telling you cuz… well you know this stuff. Mr. Stark doesn't know this stuff."

"And that's exactly why he called me. He knew that there were some things that I could help you with that he couldn't, especially things to do with your enhanced metabolism, and hiding food, and all of the things that come with both of those. And now that we know why you hide food, we can get on to how to help with that!"

Peter grinned, almost excitedly, and resituated himself in his seat so as to pay closer attention.

"But before I tell you, can you tell me about your experiences? What have you and Tony tried?" I asked.

Peter thought for a moment, and straightened up slightly, so his face wasn't as hidden behind the pillow.

"How much did Mr. Stark tell you about my Aunt May?" he asked.

"He said your home life was really rough, and that you got kicked out and spent a week on the streets. He said you were starving and exhausted when he took you in," I said. "He… actually didn't say anything about an Aunt."

Peter nodded, then opened his mouth to speak but I cut him off.

"You don't have to tell me what went on at home," I said. "You don't have to tell me that if you don't want to, it's okay if you want to keep that to yourself-"

"I think I should," Peter interrupted. "It'll… help you see how to help me right? I'm okay with telling you. You and the other Avengers are nice."

I smiled, and he gave me a small smile back before beginning.

"Mr. Stark says Aunt May was abusive, but I didn't really see it until I left. I knew she was different, I knew she could be mean, but I didn't put those two together until she kicked me out. She was really controlling, Mr. Stark said she was manipulative. She had a lot of rules: no speaking unless spoken to, no tv unless she turned it on, no questions, no sleeping until she said so, don't get out of bed until she says I can, no friends over, all sorts of stuff. But one of the biggest ones was that I couldn't eat until she said I could, and then I wasn't allowed to eat anything more than what she gave me."

My nerves turned to ice while my blood started to boil. If I were standing up I think my knees and arms would be shaking with anger.

"So… when she did let me eat I always saved a bit for later. And I would eat at school, and whenever she wasn't in the house. But…" He trailed off, and a slightly confused look crossed his face.

"She wasn't bad all the time you know. She could be really, really sweet sometimes. She always apologized after she hurt me. She would give me things, my computer, money for Mr. Delmar's, letting me do the 'Stark Internship'. But… even though she apologized, she did the same bad things over and over again, but I always said that it was okay because she apologized every time. Somehow, my brain twisted on itself and said 'who cares if she didn't let you out of bed for two days, she took you out to your favorite restaurant to say she's sorry, and let you eat all the food you wanted. She's getting better, see?'"

"She didn't let you out of bed for two _days_?" I said, feeling my voice start to shake. Peter opened his mouth, then shut it again. I could see tears welling in his eyes.

"I don't even remember what I did wrong."

His words hung in the air for a moment, like an echo in a dark and empty cave.

Then, quite suddenly, it seems I lost control of my limbs. Two seconds ago I was just sitting there, and then I had my arms curled tightly around him, Peter giving a small yelp of surprise. Not a second later he hugged me back, hiding his face in my collarbone.

He was hugging me quite lightly, as though worried he would hurt me. I suddenly remembered that he normally hugs people who don't have superstrength, so he tries to be careful.

"Heh, you can hug me more, Queens, I'm not fragile like everyone else," I said. I heard Peter take a sharp inhale, then he squeezed me tighter, and I pulled him so I could lean against the wall again while still hugging him tightly.

We sat like that together for a moment, but my heart started to race as I realized Peter was trembling. Crying.

"Peter?" I said, pulling away.

"No, no don't stop please," he squeaked, hugging me even tighter.

"Okay," I said. "Are you okay buddy?"

"Mhmm," he said in a wobbling voice. "I-I'm just really happy. I've felt alone for so _long_, but since Mr. Stark helped me and even just the hour I've spent with you… I don't think I've ever felt happier in my _life_."

I smiled sadly and rubbed his back.

"I'm glad you're happy now. And it's only going to get better, you know. Soon we're gonna move to the compound, and then you'll get to meet all the other Avengers, and then of course you'll be able to be Spider-Man again!" I said. "You can only go up."

"That's good. Up is good," Peter said. He let me go, but leaned on my arm as he wiped the tears off his face. "Sorry, I kind of cry a lot, it's probably annoying," he said.

"Nope, not annoying at all," I said. "It's okay to cry, and I don't care how often you do it. I cry sometimes. Same with Bucky."

"Really? Oh, and speaking of Sergeant Barnes-"

"You can call him Bucky kid. Sergeant Barnes is a bit of a mouthful isn't it?"

"Oh, ha, yeah a bit. But, can I ask you one more thing? About Bucky?" Peter said tentatively.

"Sure, go ahead."

"Are you and him together?" he asked.

"Yep!" I said happily. "Since 1936, before I joined the military. I asked him out a few months after my mom died. I took him out to dinner at the same place he took me when he saved me from those assholes. I made sure I paid for everything, just like he did that day."

Peter grinned and I ruffled his hair.

"So, do you want me to show you some of the things that helped me now? Or if you want we can do that later, either way is alright with me," I said.

"Right now is okay," Peter said. He started to get off the bed, but he turned back and mumbled, "Thanks for hugging me. It was nice."

"Haha, no problem kid, Tony mentioned that you liked hugs. I like them too, Bucky hugs me all the time," I said with a smile.

"Awwww! That's so cuuuute!" Peter said.

I laughed, and we both headed out of his room.

As we headed down the hall, Peter leading me to the kitchen, I glanced into the living room and saw Bucky… sitting across from Tony on the couches surrounding the coffee table.

They were talking.

I paused for a moment, and Bucky seemed to sense I was there because he looked over at me. He gave me a smile and a small wave.

I suppose I'll have to figure out what's going on later. I gave him a nod and hurried after Peter.

"Alright kid, so there's a few things I can show you now, but there's one thing that will probably work best once we move to the compound," I said, looking around the kitchen. "Ton' said we were moving in a week, right?"

"Yeah. I keep trying to pack up my stuff but then I remember most all the stuff I wanna pack is back in the apartment, with Aunt May. Or maybe she's gotten rid of it. Or burned it. Couldn't exactly bring my periodic table poster with me when I left," he said somberly.

I patted his back, and he smiled a little sadly up at me before gesturing for me to continue.

"Alright, so one thing that helped me was every morning before breakfast, I would open up the fridge," I walked over and pulled it open, "and the cupboards," I opened them, "and I would just stand back for a minute and look at all the food we had."

I stood next to Peter as he gazed around.

"I… didn't quite realize there was so much," he said, sounding slightly surprised.

"That's what I thought too. Sometimes it's hard to see just how… how _safe_ you are, because it's not out in the open all the time. I found that this helped me remember that we had more than enough food for everyone, including me," I said.

"That makes sense," Peter said.

"The next thing-" I said, and I reached into the cupboard and grabbed a box of cereal, a few Hulk Bars, and then the fruit bowl off the counter. "-is to always have some food out on the table all the time."

We walked over to the table and I set everything down, arranging everything into a way that looked nice.

"That way, even if all the cupboards are closed, you can see a bit of food all the time. And these foods are nice because you can eat them as snacks, and it doesn't feel like a big event when you want to get something to eat," I said. I glanced at him, and he had a thoughtful, yet hopeful, look on his face.

"I like that. I can't believe we didn't think of that," he said with a smile.

"Well, Tony isn't a genius on _all_ fronts," I said with a smirk.

Peter laughed a high, giddy laugh that made my heart swell.

"Alright, last thing, besides what I want to show you when we get to the compound," I said. "Whenever you go out, you should take a snack with you. Even if all you're doing is getting the mail. It always helped me to have food constantly, even if I knew I wouldn't need it. This is a habit I still do now, especially when we go on missions. Nothing's worse than finishing a hard day, only to have to sit through a half hour debrief from Fury on an empty stomach."

Peter giggled again, and I smiled back at him. We both began closing the cupboard and refrigerator doors, and it was then that I realized I was hungry. _Really_ hungry, actually. I checked the time. 11:45, and I had breakfast at 10. Crap, I was so engrossed with Peter I forgot to eat. Passing by all those restaurants in the car felt like ages ago now. I massaged my fingers into my stomach, trying to rub away the dull ache I was starting to feel there. Peter took notice.

"Are you hungry?" Peter asked.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, a bit. I forgot to eat one of my… you called them Hourlies? I forgot to eat one of those at eleven, so now I swear I'm skin and bones," I said. Peter didn't respond. "Heh, maybe you haven't heard that one before, I'm never sure if what I'm saying is an older phrase-"

I cut off when I turned around and saw Peter's face. The look of panic on it surprised me.

"Peter?" I said.

He muttered something but it was so low I couldn't hear it. His face looked pale, almost sick, and fearful, and his eyes were unfocused. He started backing away from me, stumbling shakily. I immediately went over to him and gripped his shoulders to steady him.

"Peter?" I said. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

He stared at me for a moment, and suddenly it seemed like his eyes became unclouded, and he frowned in confusion. He shook his head, like he was clearing his head of something.

"It was an expression," he said softly.

"I-Yes, it was just an expression Peter, but what's wrong? Are you hurt?" I said gently.

"Oh my god, I'm so stupid," he mumbled, squeezing his eyes shut. "Stupid, stupid stupid stupid-"

"Stop that, don't talk about yourself like that-"

"It made me think-It made me think of my first day here," he said, his voice going up an octave, and he clutched his head in both hands. "Mr. Stark took me out of the alley, and when I went to shower I saw myself in the mirror-It was so scary, _I_ was so scary, I looked like one of those monsters in a horror movie, all thin and, and, and, _weird-_Oh god I'm losing my mind."

It suddenly clicked. When I said "skin and bones"…

I felt guilt settle in my chest at the idea that I caused him so much worry. I remember looking like that, thin as a rail, bones jutting out of my skin. I couldn't look in the mirror most days back then, my own face would haunt my dreams.

"You're not losing your mind, listen, look at me," I said, and I put a finger under his chin, coaxing him to make eye contact. "You're not losing your mind. It's okay, you're not stupid, you're not crazy."

Peter didn't argue, but he definitely didn't believe me.

"You're _not_ losing it, kid. It's just… a bad memory. Bruce had a more technical name for it I think, but sometimes words or phrases or images remind us of bad memories," I said. "Everyone has things like that."

Peter started slowly lowering his hands as I continued.

"Even the Avengers. _Especially_ us even, it's hard to be a hero without some messed up stuff happening to you it seems," I said, smoothing my thumbs over his bony shoulders as I went on. "I _hate_ trains. Even seeing one on tv makes me feel sick to my stomach, I would rather use literally any other means of transportation."

"Why?" Peter whispered.

"Bucky… fell out of a train when he and I were fighting HYDRA. He fell all the way down a cliff, and he got captured. For years I thought he was dead, and then, as you know, he was the Winter Soldier when we were reunited. But now all I can think of when I see a train is the moment of watching him fall until he became no bigger than a speck of dust. Of trying to reach him as he clung to the door of the freight car, only for him to be swept away from me," I said.

Peter gazed at me with watery eyes for a moment before giving me a hug. I let out a small laugh. Here I am, trying to comfort him, and he goes and tries to comfort me back. This kid is too sweet.

"It's not just me and you either. All the Avengers have bad memories. Natasha hates dancing, especially ballet. We can't even say the word 'nutcracker' around Christmas time. Bruce hates anything that could tie him with the Hulk, so he pretty much avoids green at all costs, and gets nervous if he can't meditate at _least_ twice a day. Clint can't look at Vision's face, he's terrified of that stone, always worried it's going to hypnotize him again, and Vision is somewhat scared of it as well, he accidentally paralyzed Rhodey with it. We can't talk about Sokovia with Wanda, she says all it reminds her of is her brother. Bucky has a whole string of words he hates, fortunately they're all in Russian, but he also hates trains, like me. And needles. And Tony… Tony hates just about any mention of the aliens attack in New York. It's part of the reason he normally lives in the compound."

I smoothed my hand over his back, and he seemed to cling to me a little tighter.

"Of course, that's not everything. Heh, it'd take me a good while to list all that, but those are some of the big things. We have big and small things that hurt us just like you do, and we do our best to accommodate them. Sure, we don't always have time for Bruce to meditate, and sometimes we have to go on a train, and sometimes we can't avoid certain words or topics of conversation, but we do what we can, and that's enough. And as time goes on things will get a lot easier, that's what happened with me. With everyone else too. Things aren't as bad as they used to be, and we'll help you get to that point too. You're not going through this alone, buddy."

Peter breathed a heavy sigh of relief, and I felt him relax further into my arms.

Eventually we broke apart, Peter dabbing at his eyes with his sleeve. I kept one arm wrapped around his shoulders, and he leaned into my side.

"What's annoying is I don't really know what's bad for me," he said with a sniff. "It feels like I panic without a reason. Like anything could set me off."

"That's alright. We can figure it out together. Again, you won't be doing all this stuff by yourself."

He nodded and rested his head against my side.

"Could you… could you tell Mr. Stark and Bucky about all this? And the other Avengers too when they come live with us? I just don't want anyone to think I'm weird for opening up all the cupboards every morning," he said, his face turning a little red.

"Of course. You won't have to worry about anything like that, I'll take care of making sure everyone knows what's going on," I said, squeezing his arm gently.

"That's good," he said, nodding to himself. "That's good."

Then after a few moments of silence he said, "We should have lunch. Mr. Stark and Serge-I mean, Bucky, are probably hungry too."

"Good idea."

Together we walked down to where Tony and Bucky still sat and called them over for lunch. Peter shooed Bucky and I out of the kitchen, and it just about melted my heart to see him and Tony cooking together.

Tony looked at Peter with a type of pride and fondness I've never seen in him before. It's nothing like the emotions he shows when looking at a new Iron Suit, or at the other Avengers.

It… reminded me of the way Clint looked at his kids. His face lit up every time Peter spoke, and became positively gleeful whenever he laughed.

It seems he really would lay down on the wire for this kid.


	6. At the same time

"I think I should talk with him alone, Buck," Steve said. "You alright to stay out here?"

"Oh, right, yeah of course," I said, glancing hesitantly over my shoulder. To be honest I was so lost in thought I didn't realize Steve was going to talk to Peter now.

"_He is definitely gonna kill me_," I whispered, not entirely sure if I was joking or not.

"No, he won't. Just go find your room, grab something to eat, take a nap, watch tv, do whatever. I think Tony is content with ignoring you, I doubt he'll start anything. He'll warm up to you eventually, it'll just take some time," Steve said, giving me a soft smile. "You two are similar you know, never know when to relax."

I scoffed, then squeezed his hand before turning away, hoping to find my room. I heard him shut Peter's door a moment later.

I looked around for a moment, not entirely sure where I was. There were two bedrooms at the end of the hall: one Peter's and the other one no doubt was Tony's, but I have no idea where in the hell my and Steve's were.

Funny that Tony gave us separate rooms. That won't last long. _At least I hope not, I'm not sure I could sleep in a new place like this by myself_, I thought a little shamefully. I made my way back the way we'd come, hoping to find something familiar, but when I turned the corner, I found the living room. Tony was sitting on one of the couches, an amber drink in his hand, and flicking through a few holograms floating in front of him. I tried to quickly back out of the room, hoping he wouldn't notice me, but it was too late.

"You want a drink, Furiosa?" he said, arching an eyebrow at me.

I didn't say anything, only frowning at the name. He rolled his eyes a little and beckoned me forward, pouring me a drink.

"Pop culture reference," he said as I slowly stepped forward. "I think the kid is rubbing off on me. Furiosa is a character with a metal arm, only hers isn't made of vibranium."

He looked up at me, and an exasperated look crossed his face.

"Christ-I'm not gonna bite you man, just sit _down_," he said, punctuating the sentence swiping closed the holograms, and holding the drink out to me. I took it after a moment, and sat down opposite him.

"Forgive me for being cautious," I said icily. "You weren't exactly in the mood for drinks and conversation the last time we met." Tony seemed to freeze for a second, before busying himself with refreshing his own drink.

"Right. Sorry about that," he said.

I blinked.

"Sorry for what?" I said. From what Steve has told me, Tony isn't the forgiving type, much less the kind of person to actually _apologize_ for anything.

So either he's dying and wants to go out with no loose ends or… maybe Peter has changed him.

"Y'know, trying to kill you," he said nonchalantly. "Breaking your arm off."

"I-You don't need to apologize for that. I killed your parents, breaking off my arm isn't exactly an unexpected response," I said. I took a sip of my drink and relished in the burn, hoping it would distract me from the awkwardness.

"You didn't kill my parents, HYDRA did. They just did it through you, and I knew that. I shouldn't've blamed you," Tony said, his tone of voice sounding more serious than his relaxed form implied.

"It's fine if you do. I blame myself too," I said, taking another drink. Tony frowned at me for a moment, before cracking a slightly amused grin.

"Jeez, this must be how the team feels when they talk to me," he muttered with a small laugh. "You shouldn't blame yourself. It's not your fault, it was mind-control, hypnosis shit. You can't fight that kind of stuff, believe me, I've seen it."

I almost argued, but Tony suddenly gave me a look, like he knew what I was going to say, and I shut my mouth again. I could've sworn there was a glint of satisfaction in his eye, but he changed the subject before I could be sure.

"So, how was your little trip to Wakanda?" he said.

I blinked, bewildered for the second time in our conversation.

"How did you know we visited Wakanda? We were in _Nepal_ when you called," I said.

"You didn't correct me when I said your arm was made of vibranium," he said cooly, taking a sip of his drink. "And unless you somehow stole Cap's frisbee of freedom, the same one sitting in my closet collecting dust, and melted _that_ into a new arm, you must've paid a nice visit to Wakanda, and had a chat with good ole Bagheera."

"Ah. Nice job Sherlock," I said with a nod. Steve will be happy, he was certain Tony'd destroyed his shield. "Trip was good, I spent almost a month there while they made me an arm and tried to figure out how to get HYDRA's crap out of my head. They set me up with a nice hut on the countryside, even gave me a few goats to take care of. In the end they gave me a new arm and then referred me to a doctor living in Nepal."

"Goats?" Tony said, as though none of the other information interested him.

"Yeah, I had four. George, Winnifred, Becca, and Grant. I loved them, I was sad to leave them," I said, smiling at the memory of seeing them bound about when they were excited.

"Well I'm sure the Kitten King wouldn't mind if I sent a plane over to pick up your Four Billy Goats Gruff. They'll be waiting for you when we arrive at the compound," Tony said. It took me a moment to realize what he was saying, but I finally processed it when he opened up a hologram and started making arrangements for a plane. I again opened my mouth to argue, this is too much, he's already letting me stay at the compound, he doesn't need to do all this, and _again_ Tony gave me that look that made me shut my mouth. "Call it an apology gift. Least I can do really."

I couldn't help the grin that spread on my face, nor the warmth that grew in my chest as he closed the holograms again.

"Alright. Thank you," I said. I took a slower drink, and for the first time I actually noticed it's quality and taste besides the burn.

"You said you went to a doctor in Nepal? What's he like?" Tony said, ignoring the thanks.

"He's… a strange man. You'd like him. His methods are pretty, uh, different, but they worked. He got HYDRA out of my head, and then he sent us on our way about a week ago. We were discussing what to do next when you called. Rather perfect timing, we were running out of money," I said with a small laugh.

Tony's gaze softened slightly.

"Well, I guess I'm glad I called when I did then," he said. "Helped the kid _and_ you two at the same time."

I nodded.

"So, how _is_ the kid?" I said.

"He's doing alright, I think. He'll get better with Steve's help. Steve hid food just like Pete does, he knows how the kid feels better than I ever could," Tony said with a bit of a sad smile. "I don't know what I'd do if Steve wasn't here to help."

I nodded again, thinking about how gentle Steve was with me when I was in the worst parts of my recovery: talking to me softly when I panicked, brushing my hair when I was too exhausted to do it myself, massaging the muscles around my metal arm when they began to ache. He'll be great with Peter.

"Hey speaking of Steve, how long have you two been a thing?" Tony said suddenly, leaning forward and sounding as though I'd kept a particularly juicy piece of gossip from him this whole time.

"Since 1936," I said.

"Wait what?" Tony said.

"Well we broke up when I joined the army, so we were together for about four years," I said. "And then of course we weren't together while I was under HYDRA's control, but as soon as the doctor got HYDRA out of my head, we got together again. I met him when some assholes were trying to mug him. He'd earned a couple quarters and I guess he'd been on his way to the store to buy medicine for his mother. I beat up the bullies for him and then took him out to eat; the poor man was half starved to death. He asked me out a few years later."

"When _aren't_ you a knight in shining armor? You said you two got back together _after_ HYDRA was out of your head? But, that would only have been, what, a week or so ago you said? You've been traveling with each other for a few _months_ now, why did you wait?" Tony asked, a deep frown on his face.

"Well uh…" I said, stalling for a moment by taking a sip of my drink. "A couple reasons I guess. I didn't want him to get hurt. I was worried that if HYDRA got wind that we were together, then they'd say the magic words and make me hurt him again. And you know him, he'd let me kill him before he'd ever attack me.

"And I also wanted to be… myself, when we got together. I didn't want any part of me to be HYDRA, I wanted him to be with _me_, no strings. And it was worth it. Now I can finally be _his_, and nobody else's," I said, feeling warmth spread over my skin.

"That is… sickeningly adorable," Tony said, somehow making a face that looked happy and disgusted at the same time. "Well! Guess you 'n the other fossil should be sharing a room then huh? I'll have to have Happy move your stuff into a larger room, and then set you two up with a room at the compound of course, as Steve's old room won't be big enough. Actually, Friday can you send me a reminder about that later?"

"Yes Boss," Friday said, making me jump slightly as her voice filled the room.

"Awesome," he said.

I opened my mouth to thank him, but in that moment I suddenly felt as though I were being watched. When I looked over my shoulder I saw Steve standing in the hallway, looking at us with a slightly concerned expression.

He's got this funny thing he does with his eyes when he's confused and trying to figure something out, and his mouth always gets tight when he's worried about me; it's pretty adorable. It's been a while since I've had somebody worry about me, and although I don't exactly _enjoy_ seeing Steve anxious, it's nice to know he cares.

I smiled and gave him a little wave, and he relaxed, his mouth shifting to a small smile, and he gave me a very soldier-like nod. Then he turned and followed a slightly bouncy Peter down the hallway.

I turned back to see Tony looking for a moment longer at the spot where they'd just disappeared, a soft but proud smile on his face. Though I imagine he wasn't thinking about Steve, but rather the thin, excited boy he was following.

"Heh, you sure like that kid," I said. Tony looked a little surprised at the comment, as though he didn't realize he'd been so obvious.

"Yeah, he's a good kid. Good, good kid," he said, but his smile suddenly turned more sad than anything else. "He doesn't deserve half the shit he's been dealt in his life."

He opened and closed his mouth, looking as though he were trying to gather his thoughts, so I nodded and took a sip of my drink, letting him take his time.

"I found him in an alleyway, you know. The one right out there," he said, gesturing vaguely in the direction behind him. "He was sleeping in a tent. Had an old sleeping bag that was ripped down one of the seams so half the insulation had fallen out. Kid was exhausted and literally starving, he hadn't eaten in practically a week. His metabolism just ate right through him, he could barely hold himself up. You think he looks skeletal now, you should've seen him a couple weeks ago. He was scared of his own reflection in the mirror."

I had noticed he was smaller now than he'd been when I fought him at the airport, and even then he was tiny.

"Poor kid," I said. "I remember Steve saying he was scared of his own reflection too, actually. Back when he was younger."

Tony glanced back at the spot where Peter and Steve disappeared and sighed.

"You don't say?"

"Nobody really liked looking in the mirror back then. I know I didn't either. My little sister would sit outside and brush her hair rather than go in the bathroom to do it. Steve said looking at himself only reminded him how bad things were. It was easier not to," I said.

Tony nodded solemnly, but I smiled as a thought struck me.

"You know I met Steve in an alleyway too?"

Tony suddenly snorted with laughter, his somber look fading quickly.

"You're kidding," he said. "They can't possibly be more identical. No way."

"Not kidding," I said with a laugh.

"Jesus christ," he said. "Of course the dumbass would get himself mugged in an alleyway."

"And Peter is the only other person, besides Steve, who's been able to stop my punch," I said, laughing at the memory. "You know the first thing that came out of his mouth when he did that?"

"Something dorky I'm sure."

"'Woah, you have a metal arm!? That is awesome dude!'"

"Oh my god," Tony said, dissolving into a fit of laughter. "Of course he would say that. In the middle of a fight, that's the thing he'd say."

"Steve was like that when he was younger. As he grew up he became more stoic, but when he was younger he'd run his mouth and jump into fights without a thought of his own safety. I bandaged a lot of busted lips when he was younger," I said.

"Damn, they really are the same fuckin' person," Tony said, still wiping away tears of laughter. He took a sip of his drink, but his attention suddenly went to something over my shoulder.

"Hey you two," Steve said.

I turned around to see him and Peter walking towards us. Peter looked a little less bouncy than when I saw him in the hallway, but not deflated either, as there was an almost excited smile on his face.

"It's almost lunchtime, Mr. Stark," Peter said, fidgeting a little with his sleeves. "We should start cooking."

"Perfect timing, I'm gettin' hungry," Tony said, and now that I thought about it, I realized I was too. Together we went to the kitchen, until Peter shooed us out of it, saying we should go sit down and rest ("You're our _guests! _You don't have to cook!").

I sat down next to Steve and laced my metal fingers into his, then chuckled at the dopey smile on his face.

"Tony sure does care about this kid, doesn't he?" I said, voicing what I knew he was thinking. Steve gave a hum of agreement.

"Speaking of Tony, what were you two talking about back there?" Steve said, making that funny little worried face again, though slightly less pronounced.

"We made up pretty much," I said simply. "He's going to have my goats delivered to the compound, plus you and I get to share a room now."

Steve laughed and squeezed my hand.

"That's good, I know you were sad to leave your little goats," he said. "I'm glad you and Ton' were able to figure everything out. It sounded like you were having a good conversation over there."

"We were," I said. "We talked about Peter for a bit. How you two are the same. He's… had some pretty rough things happen to him, hasn't he?"

"Yeah," Steve said, his smile turning sad just as Tony's did. "He's said he wants me to tell you and the other Avengers what happened to him so that he doesn't have to. He's worried, and he doesn't want to be keeping secrets. I… I have a feeling he doesn't like the idea of secrets after having to lie to people about his Aunt. He'd rather have it out and in the open so he doesn't have to worry about keeping it from anyone."

"His Aunt?" I said, feeling a little dread rise in my chest.

"I'll tell you later, when my stomach's not trying to eat me alive," he said as his belly grumbled. He grimaced and laughed a little tiredly. "I haven't eaten since breakfast."

"Good thing we're having lunch now, you sound like you're starved," I said, and I patted his middle. "I bet it'll be a lot easier for you to remember to eat now that you have someone who's on the same schedule as you are. You and Peter can have Munch together. Is Munch like a breakfast food kind of meal or a dinner food kinda meal? Like would you have pancakes or steak for Munch?"

"Oh man, _pancakes…_" Steve whined, tossing his head back as his belly gave another deep rumble. He rubbed his stomach, digging his fingers into his skin. "Quit talking about food, I'm gonna die."

"Yeah, yeah, drama queen," I said.

"I'm the drama queen? _You're_ the one that inspected the jet a million times, and kept saying we were going to die because the pilot was a computer," Steve said, his eyebrows raised.

"Just for that, I'm not holding your hand anymore," I said, releasing his hand.

"Wait, no, I take it back," he said, snatching back my hand and resting his head on my shoulder so I couldn't possibly have any hope of getting away. "I don't want to be starved of food _and_ your love, that was lousy the first time."

"The first time?"

"Yeah, back before I met you. Having you around, even if I was hungry all the time, it made everything a ten times better," he said. I smiled and laid my head on his.

"You made everything a ten times better too, Steve. I'm glad you're not going hungry anymore. I was happy to be there for you, but it hurt to see you like that," I said.

"I know the feeling," he said. "It hurt to see you like that too."

"It didn't affect me as much though, you know my parents had jobs, you know my family was lucky-"

"I also know you gave me half your dinner every day. It hurt to see you so worried about me and there was nothing I could do to make you stop," he said.

"I should've given you more," I muttered.

"You know damn well I would've chucked it right back at your face, Bucky," Steve said sternly. "I was barely able to accept the food that you did offer to me. I'm _glad_ you didn't go hungry like I did, you have enough things to worry about, I'd hate to see food issues on the list too."

"Eh, I can't disagree there," I said. We watched Peter and Tony cook for a few more moments, Steve's stomach interrupting the silence with a hungry growl every once in a while, before Steve spoke again.

"You know something?" he said.

"Hmm?"

"I think these past couple weeks are the first time I've been full of food and full of love at the same time," he said. He looked up at me with a wide smile. "I think falling in love with you in the 21st century was the best decision I've ever made."

"Awww," I said, and I gave him a kiss on his forehead. "Now you get to have Starbucks and snuggle with me at the same time."

"Exactly! Perfect!"

Ya know, being in _written fanfiction_ is way different than being in canon comics. I mean, there's no speech bubbles! If you wanna make something sound big and important you gotta put it in bold and italics and capitalize it and underline it and all this _boring_ stuff. But, whatta ya gonna do right?

Oh this is Deadpool, by the way. Or I suppose I was introduced earlier as Wade.

I guess I should get on to the story. Which I'm not a fan of so far, this author is being way too mean to Peter (at least from what I can tell, I've only been mentioned _once_ before, who knows what plot things have been going on behind my back), the last time I saw him he looked like he was going to pass out. Not unlike the time he _did _pass out and I had to carry him to my little hideout in an abandoned office so he could rest. I kept wanting to wake him up to get him something to eat, I mean his stomach was rumbling so much you'd think there was a very angry little lion in his belly, but he looked so exhausted, I could tell he needed sleep just as much as he needed something to eat.

But that was a while ago, he hasn't shown up to the Daily Bugle in two weeks, three days, and thirteen hours. Not that I'm counting. Jameson was the one counting, I heard him muttering about "that Parker kid" just before I left work today.

To be honest I probably should've suspected something earlier, Peter was looking wearier and wearier every day, and he looked like he was going to cry when I bought him that sandwich. I don't think I've ever seen him look so exhausted, not even during our final exams at Midtown High.

But it's alright! I'm making up for it now with a basket full of cookies and muffins and some warm soup to get rid of whatever sickness he's got. Honestly I just hope he doesn't think I'm weird for figuring out where he lives…

**He's definitely going to think you're weird**_,_ said one of the voices in my head. **A weird psycho kid.**

Well let's not assume. Maybe he won't notice, said the other.

"Shut up guys, it's too late now, I've already rung the doorbell, so _shhh_," I said. I set my shoulders straight as I heard footsteps coming to the door. It sounded like they were stumbling slightly, and for a moment I worried he was home alone with no one to take care of him, until the door opened.

The smell of alcohol hit me before I even saw who it was.

"Wha' d'you want."

It was a woman, who I suddenly realized must be Peter's aunt, but… no. There's no way this could be his Aunt May. I must somehow have the wrong place. Even though I double checked ten times.

"H-Hi, I'm Wade, uh, I'm looking for Peter? Peter Parker? Sorry I must have the wrong door, do you know where the Parkers live?" I said, barely able to talk through her rancid breath.

"Peter ain't here anymore. He fucked off," the woman said, and I flinched a little at the curse. I mean I swear all the time, but something about it being directed at Peter made me uneasy. "I'm his aunt. Call me May."

She took a messy drink from a large bottle. There wasn't much left in it.

This woman is… very drunk.

**And with beer? Really? I'd have thought a woman her age would be a little more into the wine aisle of the grocery store-**

"Wh-He-What do you mean? He ran away? That doesn't-Peter wouldn't do that," I said, ignoring the two voices in my head.

"He did." May said.

"Oh… oh god," I said, feeling slightly panicked now. He's been missing for two weeks, three days, and thirteen hours.

**The chances of finding him now…**

Are very slim.

"Shut up!" I snapped. May looked offended but I was already going down the stairs, I heard her shut her door with an annoyed huff. "I can't think about that. I'm _not_ thinking about that. I'm finding him. I'm finding him right now. And I don't give a shit what you guys think about it, go hang out in someone else's head if you don't like it."

We're not stopping you.

**Let's go find your hot boyfriend. **

"He's not my boyfriend, that title is reserved only for my spidey boy. Who also technically isn't my boyfriend, but Imma ask him out soon. I think. Hey I wonder if Webhead would help me look for Petey! Saving poor helpless kids is just the kinda heroics he likes," I said as I walked towards my car.

**I'm sorry, has he not figured it out yet?**

Shhh, don't tell him, he'll figure it out eventually.

"Figure out what?"

Nothing. Besides, you like being the hero too, Wade.

"No I-"

**We're in your head dumbfuck, you can't lie to us.**

"…Okay _fine_, I do, but does it pay? No. Hate pays a lot more than love, just look at my salary versus a hooker's. If people got a look at my paycheck, they'd be scrambling to be the next merc' with a mouth. If I could be like Spidey and do only the good shit, I would, but I can't. Webs probably lives with nice, wealthy parents, which is why he can get away with that kinda stuff, but I don't live with my parents, nor are they nice or wealthy, so I can't. So… quit trying to get me on the 'good side' or whatever."

Of course.

**Fine. **

_Stupid_ author tryin' to get me to explain my whole _stupid_ backstory to the _stupid_ voices in my head like they don't already _stupid_ know it. They were with me the whole time, dummy! They _know_ how shitty my life was back then! And they _know_ how _great_ my life is now! So quit trying to get me to spill my guts out to the readers just so they "understand my situation more".

It won't work. I plan on being very chaotic, they won't understand _shit_, I'm sure.

I jumped into the Batmobile my car, being sure to set the basket of goodies carefully in the passenger seat.

**Now, if you were a scrawny little nerd boy-**

No need to be rude. If you were an intelligent young man-

"Are you saying I'm _not_ an intelligent young man, underlined voice in my head? You guys are bad at this. If I were Peter Parker, where would I run off to?" I said.

**Library? Nerds like libraries. **

"Yeah but he couldn't live there for two weeks."

A shelter?

"They would've found and returned him already. That's what happened when I ran off the first time, remember?"

**School? Nerds like-**

It's summer, idiot.

"Ughhh, you guys aren't helping!" I said, leaning my head on the steering wheel.

**Well you know him better than we do, dumbass. **

Where do you think he'd go?

I sighed and thought.

Peter goes to Midtown High with me, I hung out with him, Ned, and MJ once or twice before meeting him again at the Daily Bugle. But he can't be with either of them, Ned's on vacation and MJ's been going to so many protests I doubt she's been home all summer. Neither of them probably even know he's run away from home.

Not that he'd _let_ anyone know anyway. Poor dude fuckin' passed out before he told anyone he hadn't eaten all day. The last thing he said before he took a dive for the floor was "I'm fine."

So his friends don't know. His Aunt doesn't know, and his Uncle may or may not know depending on what you believe. His decathlon advisor Mr. Harrington might know? But school is out, what other adult might he-

"Oh my god we're all idiots," I said.

**HEY-**

Please, for the love of all that is unholy, just _be calm _for once-

"Peter has an internship with Tony Stark!" I interrupted. "He talks about it all the time, how did none of us remember that Petey's number one hero is Iron Man? If there's one person Peter would go to it'd be Iron Butt," I said.

Tony would've returned him home.

The hopeful balloon that had begun to grow in my chest suddenly deflated.

"Oh. Right," I said.

**Oh quit bein' such a downer! Stark is a good place to look for help first, he could know where else to look for him! He could help us **_**knock some heads**_**.**

"Hey! Good idea bolded voice in my head! Let's go see if Tony Stank has a clue where Petey is," I said.

**See, I have good ideas.**

A rare occurrence.

"Shut up and get ready, motherfuckers."

**YES.**

Oh dear.

I grabbed my mask out of the glove compartment and put it on before starting the car.

"Deadpool's going Peter-hunting."


End file.
